Warning: Angsty chapter, so please prepare yourself accordingly. Includes verbal abuse.

A/N: Starsky and Hutch, The Rockford Files and CHiPs were cop shows that aired in the 1970s. At this point in 1984, they would be airing as re-runs (obviously).

Chapter Thirteen: Parental Compassion

4:54 P.M.

Ralph Johnson left work early on Friday afternoon and arrived home a few minutes before 5:00 to find his wife and teenage son sitting together in the living room, completely silent and refusing to look at one another. He put his briefcase on the table in the foyer and took a seat next to his wife on the couch.

"Where's Jamie?"

"In her room."

Mr. Johnson nodded and looked over at his son, who hadn't said a word in nearly thirty minutes. "Well…"

Apparently Mrs. Johnson had been doing enough thinking for the both of them and was tired of the silence. "A gun. You brought a gun to school. What did you think, that it would be-"

"Beverley, can you stop, please? I just got here, alright?" Mr. Johnson put a hand on his wife's knee, and she pulled away sharply. He flinched, but didn't say anything to her, just sighed and turned back to his son. "Why did you take my gun?"

Brian had tried to come up with some kind of believable excuse while they were waiting for his father to come home, but had come up dry. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Mrs. Johnson's eyes became wide with shock. "You took a gun to school, but you don't even know why?"

Brian paused. "I guess I just…I guess I just thought it was cool," he said lamely.

"You thought it was cool? Why on earth would you-"

"Beverley…"

Mrs. Johnson closed her mouth and looked down at the carpet, her jaw working silently in anger. Mr. Johnson looked away from his wife and back at his son. "I don't understand why you would do that, even if…" He ran a hand over his thick head of hair. "Did you want to show someone? Is that it? I just don't…"

Brian nodded. "Yeah."

His father let out a deep breath. "So you wanted to show your friends?"

Brian nodded numbly.

"You know that you can't just do that whenever you…I know that it's tempting to do things that you wouldn't…that you wouldn't normally do to get people to…" Mr. Johnson swept a hand over his hair again, a sign that Brian recognized as one of nervousness. "Popularity isn't everything," he finished.

Brian looked up. "Popularity," he echoed.

Mr. Johnson nodded solemnly. "I know it's hard when you…" He cleared his throat and looked over at his wife, who was still staring at the floor, refusing to look up. "You'll realize someday that it doesn't matter what other people think of you. It doesn't matter how cool you are or how many friends you have. Those things don't matter, Brian."

Brian could do nothing but stare back in disbelief.

"I felt that way when I was your age. I did things to get people to like me. I never brought a…but that doesn't…" His father cleared his throat. "Anyway, I realized when I got older that I just have to be myself and not worry about those other people, you know?" He paused for a moment, watching his son expectantly. "Do you understand what I mean?"

Brian forced his mouth open. "Yes," he said quietly.

"Good." His father let out a deep breath and looked back at his wife again. Tentatively, he put a hand on her leg, and she didn't pull away this time. "Bev…"

Mrs. Johnson looked up. "I need to start dinner." Before her husband could say anything, she stood up and walked into the kitchen.

Mr. Johnson watched her leave, then turned back to his son. "Well, I don't…I guess you've probably learned your lesson this time, so we won't need to, you know, to ground you or anything." He ran a hand through his hair and managed a nervous smile. "Just, uh, remember what I said, okay, son?"

Brian clenched his jaw. "Can I go now?"

Mr. Johnson nodded. "Sure."

Brian stood up and walked down the hall to his room.

5:35 P.M.

When Andy got home from school, the first thing he did was fix himself a ham and cheese sandwich. He finished it in about two minutes, then made himself another one and took it into the living room so that he could watch television. He was a big fan of cop shows, mostly because he'd always wanted to do something like that when he got older, and he loved watching old re-runs of shows like Hill Street Blues and Magnum, P.I. On Friday afternoon, he found an old episode of Starsky and Hutch on one of the basic cable channels and made himself comfortable on the couch.

When Starsky and Hutch was over, CHiPs, one of Andy's other favorites, came on. He loved the show partially because it was funny and partially because he was a fan of Randi Oakes, who played Officer Bonnie Clark. In fact, he kept a full-sized poster of her in his closet, which made getting dressed in the morning much more pleasant.

About halfway through CHiPs, the front door opened, and Maggie Clark walked in. Their eyes met momentarily before Mrs. Clark looked away, hung her purse and coat on the coat rack next to the door, and started walking towards the kitchen.

Andy sighed. "Mom-"

Mrs. Clark stopped and put a hand up in the air to silence him. "Don't even start." Then she disappeared into the kitchen.

Against his better judgment, Andy stood from the couch and followed her. When he got into the kitchen, he found her standing in front of the refrigerator pulling out a casserole dish with leftovers from the night before.

"Mom."

Mrs. Clark ignored him and carried the dish across the room, setting it on top of the stove and adjusting the temperature settings.

"Mom, I can explain."

She peeled the foil off the top of the casserole and placed it on the counter next to the sink, then opened the oven door and stuck the dish inside.

Andy sighed. "It wasn't that big of a deal."

Mrs. Clark whirled around, eyes blazing. "Not that big of a deal? Is that what you think? That beating someone up just because you can is 'not that big of a deal'?

Andy clenched his jaw, but didn't speak.

Mrs. Clark reached up and removed one of her clip-on earrings, slamming it down on the counter. "You wanted to talk, so talk. Tell me what happened today."

Andy swallowed. "I just…"

Maggie Clark slammed the other earring onto the counter. "Go ahead. I'm waiting."

Andy clenched his jaw. "I beat someone up."

"Yes, I heard about that. What did you do?"

Andy paused. "They didn't tell you?"

Mrs. Clark's eyes narrowed. "I want to hear it from you."

Andy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I taped his butt cheeks together."

His mother nodded. "And?"

"And then I beat him up."

Mrs. Clark shook her head. "I did not teach you to act like that, Andrew Clark. Do you hear me? I did not teach you that."

Andy nodded obediently.

Mrs. Clark took a deep breath and rubbed her ear. "So, who was it?"

Andy hesitated. "I don't know," he said finally.

Mrs. Clark stared at him for a long moment. "You don't know?"

Andy shook his head, unable to speak.

Mrs. Clark's chin started to quiver, and tears formed in her eyes. "That poor boy and you don't even-" Her voice broke, and the tears spilled over, and she turned away from him, wiping her eyes.

It was a long time before she spoke again. Andy stood there uncomfortably, shifting his weight back and forth and staring at his shoes. Finally, she turned around and looked him in the eye. "Go on."

Andy swallowed. "I was angry."

"At who?"

At Dad. The words came so suddenly that Andy had to bite his tongue to keep from saying them out loud. The warm taste of copper filled his mouth, and he swallowed it down. "Joel," he lied.

"You were mad at Joel so you decided to take it out on someone you don't even know?" Mrs. Clark shook her head. "I don't understand, Andy."

"I don't either," he answered truthfully.

His mother just stared at him for a long moment, her eyes swimming with equal parts fury and unshed tears. Andy watched her nervously, waiting for the next big outburst, but it never came. After a moment, she stepped forward and threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to her level.

"Don't you ever do that again. Do you hear me? You're better than that…" she whispered into his ear.

Andy closed his eyes. "I won't."

After a moment, she released him and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Go pick up your plate in the living room. I don't want it sitting out there."

Andy paused, waiting for her to say something about punishment. "I will."

She picked her earrings up from the kitchen counter and started walking into the living room. "Dinner will be ready in a little while."

Andy nodded. "Okay." He watched her walk through the living room and down the hallway leading towards the bedroom she shared with his father. When she was out of sight, Andy let out a deep breath and went back into the living room to clean up his mess.

6:00 P.M.

Bender caught a ride home from Zeke, who had his mom's car for the day since she didn't need it for work. When they got to his house, Bender saw that the driveway was empty, which meant that his parents were still at work, as he knew they would be. He went inside and fixed himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then turned on the television and took a seat on the couch. His parents weren't home and probably wouldn't be for a couple of hours, so he knew he wouldn't be bothered for a while. Besides, he loved television, but didn't have many opportunities to watch it since he didn't have a set in his own room.

He turned it on in time to catch the last half of Starsky and Hutch. Next up was CHiPs, which wasn't nearly as cool or violent as the former, but have a really good-looking lady cop in almost every episode. He'd always had a bit of a thing for blondes, and the fact that her uniform did a nice job of showing off her cleavage didn't hurt her cause either.

At 6:00, CHiPs ended, and some black and white show from the 50's came on. Bender didn't really like shows like that, but the set was too far away and he was too lazy to get up and change the channel.

On the screen, an older man walked up to his teenaged son and clapped him on the back. "Hey, Junior. What would you think about maybe going fishing this weekend? We can go down to the old camp site and catch a few trout. What do you say?"

The boy sighed. "I can't, Dad. The big game's next week, and I really have to practice."

The older man smiled indulgently. "Don't worry, son. We can practice when we get there."

The boy grinned. "Really? That's great!"

Suddenly, a red-haired woman came onto the screen and gave her son a peck on the cheek. "Dinner's ready, you two. Hurry up or it's going to get cold!"

Bender snorted and forced himself up off the couch to turn the channel. He settled on a re-run of The Rockford Files, and sat back down on the couch.

At about 6:30, the front door opened, and Ron Bender walked in carrying a small toolbox in one hand and a soda can in the other. When he caught sight of his teenage son sprawled out on the sofa, he narrowed his eyes. "Hard at work?"

Bender ignored him and kept his eyes trained on the screen in front of him.

"Cat got your tongue?" Bender's father passed in front of the screen and set his toolbox on the kitchen table. He stared at Bender, waiting for an answer, but Bender didn't give him one. After a few seconds, Helen Bender appeared in the doorway carrying two overloaded grocery bags in her arms. She passed in front of the television and placed the bags on the kitchen counter, immediately pulling out a box of frozen turkey pot pie for dinner.

Mr. Bender, who had been rummaging around in his toolbox, closed the lid and walked back into the kitchen. "Get me a Coke, Hel."

Mrs. Bender frowned. "They aren't cold yet."

"So get me a cup with some goddamn ice in it!"

Helen Bender pursed her lips shut and did as she was told. Her husband accepted the glass from her hand and, without saying thank you, walked back into the living room. He glanced at the television screen, then took a long, hard look at his son. "You having fun?"

Bender didn't answer.

"Cause I wouldn't want to disturb you or anything, seeing as how you work so hard all day at school. If you even went."

Bender looked up. "I did go."

"Oh, yeah? What's that, the second time all year? Or is it the third?"

Bender's nostrils flared, but he didn't respond.

Ron Bender took a sip of his soda, then looked back at his son. "What is it that you do all day, anyway? Watch television? Play guitar? Doesn't your ass get tired from you sittin' on it all the goddamn time?"

Bender looked up. "I don't know. Does your dick get tired from you strokin' it all the time?"

Ron Bender's lip curled in disgust. "You've always been quick, haven't you, Johnny?"

"Yeah, must've gotten it from you."

Mr. Bender let out a low, mirthless chuckle and glanced back at his wife, who was pretending not to listen. "You sure as hell didn't get it from your mother," he said.

John didn't respond, just turned back to the screen.

Mr. Bender's face contorted with anger. "Didn't anybody ever tell that it's rude to ignore someone when they're talkin' to you?" he asked.

John looked up. "Guess not."

"Well, it is!" Mr. Bender waved around his glass, spilling a couple of drops of soda onto the stained brown carpet. When John didn't respond, the elder Bender sneered. "What? No smart comebacks for your old man?"

"Guess you're just too quick for me, Dad," said Bender lazily, looking past him at the screen again. His father strode over to the television and hit the power button, causing the screen to go blank. Then he turned back to his son, eyes blazing with anger.

"Shut your big mouth, you fucking know-it-all!" Mr. Bender shook his head angrily. "You sit here on this couch all day like the lazy son of a bitch you are while I'm at work, and then you smart off to me when I get home! Is this the thanks I get for putting food on the table and not kicking you out of my home? You ungrateful little shit!"

Mrs. Bender, who had been watching them from her place in the kitchen, spoke up. "And lazy! He didn't go to school yesterday. I heard him listening to music while-"

"Shut up!" Ron Bender turned to his wife and jabbed his index finger in her direction. "Don't interrupt me while I'm talking!"

Mrs. Bender hesitated, then closed her mouth and went back to the turkey pot pie.

Mr. Bender turned back to his son. "You know what I think? I think you need to start payin' me to live here. You're almost 18 now, aren't you? I think it's about time."

Bender glanced over at his mother, who had opened her mouth to correct her husband. When she saw John watching her, she closed it again and looked back at the food in front of her.

Even if she didn't say anything, Bender still thought it was nice to know that at least his mother knew his real age.

"So, instead of sittin' on your ass all day tomorrow, why don't you see about getting a job, huh? Pay me back for takin' care of you for all these years."

John scoffed. "Yeah, right."

Mr. Bender paused. "What's that?"

John stood from the sofa. "I said fuck you."

"Oh, did you? Mr. Tough Guy here said 'fuck you' to his old man. Wanna back that up with your fists, or are you too scared?"

Bender wrinkled his nose in disgust. "I'm not gonna fight you."

"No really. I'll even give you the first punch. I just want to see what you've got…wanna see if you've got any business runnin' your mouth like you do."

"What, you wanna see if I'm like you? 'Cause I'm not."

"Goddamn right you're not. You're a worthless, freeloading asshole that doesn't know the difference between his dick and his elbow." Ron Bender took a few steps towards his son, and John flinched, anticipating the blow. But instead of hitting him, the older man took a seat on the couch where Bender had been sitting only moments before and looked up at the television screen. "Find a job or get the fuck out of my house."

Bender didn't answer, just grabbed his coat from the floor and walked out the door.

A/N: I have three (or possibly four) chapters left for this story, and I hope to have them all written and posted by the end of the month, if not sooner. Please leave me some feedback if you have the time. Thanks.