*Author's Note: Sorry to keep you all waiting, I know it was a long time between updates. I had a few things that I was recovering from that impeded my writing, but I'm back now, with the longest chapter yet! I hope you enjoy!

Also, a few people have been asking if Nate is going to show up. I do plan on bringing him in later, both through flashbacks and the present, so don't worry, you'll see him eventually!*

Rafe paced back and forth in his room. There was a knot of anger in his stomach. It wasn't tight enough to strangle out his self-control, but the more he dwelled on what happened the bigger it grew, it's imposing presence driving his blood pressure up and making the back of his throat taste like bile. He'd been tempted to throw that ball right back at Sam for his impertinence and prove he didn't care if he took it away or not. It was just a stupid ball, even if it was one of the few possessions here he could actually claim as his. He bet that if he slammed it against Drake's ear hard enough, he could do some permanent damage. It might even be an improvement.

He didn't want to get thrown over the table again, though; especially not with Sullivan right there.

So, now he paced, converting his anger into an energy that he could expel more easily. He had to cool off, unwind the knot and store it in the back of his mind with the rest of his irritation from the Drakes and Sully. He could bring it out again later, when he actually had the means to use it for revenge.

A knock on his door brought him to a halt. He took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his fists, and collected himself. With effort, he forced his features into a calm expression, despite what he felt. He had plenty of practice at it, considering the image he had to protect. When he spoke, his voice was strong and casual. "Come in."

Sully pressed the door open, eyes sweeping the room to assess the situation. After talking with Sam, he figured that he should probably check on Rafe to see how he was doing. As highly as the kid thought of himself, his dignity was very fragile. Sully had seen it in plenty of people before, but usually he was schmoozing them while swindling their things right beneath their noses. When things went right, he was long gone before the aftermath.

It was painfully obvious that Sam had even less experience, and less patience, at least when it came to the men in that category.

The kid was standing stiffly in the middle of his room, head turned away from the door, arms crossed over his chest. Well, at least he wasn't waiting in ambush. Sully saw his arms and shoulders tense up, then Rafe realized what was happening and forced them to relax again. Even with the times he'd seen the kid snap, he didn't think he knew anyone outside of the navy who was as good at keeping their composure as he was, or at recovering so quickly after losing it. This went beyond training to keep a public image, and he decided he'd have to ask Rafe about it sometime when he was in a better mood.

The room itself looked different; like everything was rearranged. Either Rafe had spent the afternoon in his room by reorganizing things to his preference, or- more likely- he had knocked everything off the shelves and out of drawers in a fit of rage right after the 'talk' with Sam, then whatever goddamn part of him it was that kept his appearance in check him made him put it all back in order. The tennis ball was the only thing out of place, being thrown haphazardly on his bed.

Sully stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. He knew that he had to breech the silence first, or it would never be broken. "How you doing, kid?" he asked, keeping his tone light. "I heard you had a rough day."

Rafe didn't answer, he just kept his eyes trained on the wall, and with the placid expression on his face he looked for all the world like he was watching a screen. He was keeping tabs on Sully through his peripherals, though, just in case the old man came too close. He wasn't in the mood for touchy-feely, or emotions.

Alright, Sully surmised, he wasn't just upset with Sam. He was upset with him, too. Maybe he shouldn't have left the two of them alone so early on in the year, but Rafe hadn't seemed to really mind it before he left. Then again, the kid probably wouldn't have broadcasted it if he did.

Or maybe he was just mad because Sully had let Sam talk to him like a child and hadn't said anything about it. Well, that's why he was here now, to figure it out.

"Alright." He approached Rafe and reached out to put a hand on his back. "Want to tell me about it?"

Rafe stiffened under his touch and took a slight step sideways, just far enough to pull away.

Sully let his hand drop, then he crossed his arms and stepped into Rafe's field of view. "Kid, I already told you that you can't keep up the silent treatment here. If you don't want to talk right now, that's fine, but you have to tell me that. I just want to make sure you're okay, but I can come back later if you want me to."

A more pointed, annoyed look replaced the calm one, and Rafe took a deep breath. Then he shifted his gaze upwards from the spot on the wall that Sully was now blocking to look him in the eye. "You're not allowed to leave me alone with him again."

The corners of Sully's mouth quirked upwards before he could stop himself. The vote was unanimous, then. "That's a start. Want to tell me why?"

"Sam already told you, didn't he?"

"Sam told me you were trying to provoke him into a fight for most of the morning, that you threw your ball at him, and then hit him when he took it away," Sully answered. "Is that the version you want me to stick with?"

Rafe felt his cheeks flush and he grit his teeth indignantly. "I wouldn't have phrased it that way."

Sully reached his hand out again, resting it between Rafe's shoulder blade and neck. He felt the kid tense up, but this time he hesitated for a few seconds, then relaxed his core and shifted towards Sully to press back into his hand. Sully accepted the unspoken permission and began to rub small circles with his thumb. "How would you have phrased it, then?"

Rafe was quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He was very aware of the weight against his upper back, but he had decided it was harmless to humor the old man, possibly even helpful in the long run. If he could win Sully over to his side by letting him think he had some sort of paternal influence, then maybe he could get out of here sooner, or at the very least get Samuel out.

And, perhaps, a small part of him found it to be soothing, but he would never even entertain the idea in his conscious mind.

"He's the one who started it," Rafe finally answered. "He was drinking beer, and he told me I couldn't have any because I couldn't handle it. I've been drinking for years, Victor, harder stuff than beer. He was flaunting his position in this house because he didn't have to worry about you being around to see it." He glanced at Sully. The old man didn't seem surprised, so maybe Sam had told him that part already, or at least a version of it.

Sully was watching Rafe closely. It was hard to tell if what he was saying was sincere or another carefully acted lie, but his gut feeling told him that it was genuine. He knew Sam would never actually do something like that- he wasn't petty, and he didn't care much for status- but he could believe that Rafe would interpret it like that. He wasn't sure if he even liked beer, or if he just wanted it because Sam had it and said he couldn't. And, of course, it didn't explain Rafe's behavior before he even came out and saw the beer, but apparently that part wasn't important to him, and he didn't need to excuse it.

"So you threw the tennis ball at him, because he was rubbing the beer in your face."

"And?" Rafe scowled, "You and I both know that couldn't have hurt him. You could shoot one out of a cannon at someone and it wouldn't even leave a mark. He didn't have to take it away, he was just being a dick."

Sully nodded. "And that's the part that pissed you off? He took something that belonged to you for no real reason?"

Rafe looked away from him and chose not to answer that directly. "Just tell him to stop picking me up and throwing me around, alright? I'm not his little brother. He can't just do that."

With Rafe no longer looking at him, Sully indulged in an amused smirk. "I'll talk to him, but I can't guarantee it'll work. He likes to take the path of least resistance."

"Yeah? Well, if he keeps it up he's going to find resistance in the form of a well-placed kick," Rafe said, voice dark and sullen. "I'm an adult; I don't need to be manhandled."

"I'll be sure to mention that." Sully squeezed Rafe's shoulder placatingly. "You should know that I'm the one who came up with the no alcohol rule, not Sam. It was originally going to be lifted once you'd settled in."

Rafe tensed up, but instead of moving away he looked at Sully shrewdly. "If I hadn't punched Sam after you explained the rules?"

Sully nodded. "After that, you lost the privilege, along with a few others, like not being locked in your room at night. Don't worry, though, it's something that can always be earned back. Speaking of which, do you want some good news?"

"Only if you're about to tell me that Sam's been voted off the island."

"I'm afraid not," Sully chuckled a little and shook his head. "We need someone to do the housework, don't we? No, I've decided that it's been long enough. If you promise not to waste food- or anything else- on purpose anymore, then you're allowed to get things for yourself again. How does that sound, hm?"

Rafe studied him, trying to decide if he was being set up or not. He couldn't find any reason behind a trap like that, though, not coming from Sully. If Sam had told him, he wouldn't trust it. He inclined his head. "I won't be wasting anything again," he answered, choosing his words carefully. "Unless you count time, because this whole year is nothing but a waste of that. Does Sam know about this?"

"Yeah, I already told him." Sully clapped Rafe on the shoulder before removing his hand and gesturing towards the door. "Feeling better? Because I got something for you while I was out, but I'll need help bringing it in. Unless you don't mind Sam coming into your room, of course"

"No," Rafe said quickly. "I can help you." He cocked his head to the side. "I didn't ask you for anything, Sully." Especially not anything heavy. "Is this something I actually want, or just something you think I should have?"

"A bit of both, I think. We talked about it earlier." Sully grabbed Rafe's wrist and held his hand up, emphasizing his bandaged knuckles. "Something to help prevent this from happening again."

Rafe pulled his hand away. He didn't appreciate the suddenness of that, but he remembered the conversation Sully was referring to. "Is there space for a punching bag in here?"

"If we rearrange some things, there should be," Sully confirmed, looking over the room. "For now, we'll just bring the box in, and we can set it up later after you've decided where you want it." He walked over to the door and opened it then. "Come on and help an old man out."

Rafe followed him through the hallway and into the kitchen, where he pointedly avoided looking at Sam, who was hovering by the stove working on dinner. The kit was outside on the porch, and it was much heavier than it looked. It took a little maneuvering to get it inside the house, then into his room. Just as they were setting it down in the corner where it was out of the way, Sam called out that it was time to eat.

Rafe groaned inwardly and walked out to the table, still avoiding looking at the older Drake. He glanced at the spot where he had been tossed down earlier, and was grateful that it at least wasn't at his usual seat; he wouldn't want to eat there. When he walked around the table and pulled his chair out, he saw that the cushions had disappeared. Yeah, fuck you too, Sam. He sat down without comment. The earlier incident thankfully hadn't left him very sore, and it wasn't too difficult for him to sit.

Sam carried a pan of salmon fillets over, seemingly oblivious. "How hungry are you?" he asked, letting Rafe see his choices. The brat seemed to be in a better mood than earlier, but that really didn't mean anything. He doubted that even Sully's charm could change his mood that quickly.

Rafe glanced at the pan, avoiding looking up, and pointed to one of the smaller pieces. "That one."

Sam obliged, putting it on his plate, then he walked to Sully's spot and gave him the biggest piece. "There's more if you want it, but for now I'm putting it in the oven to keep it warm," he commented as he put a piece on his own plate. After taking care of the fish, he carried a bowl of roasted vegetables and a bowl of thinly sliced, fried potatoes over. The vegetables were set in front of Rafe, the potatoes in front of Sully. When everyone had what they wanted, he finally settled down in his seat.

Rafe picked up his fork and slowly began to eat, deliberately pacing himself. The longer he had food in his mouth, the less he had to talk.

After a few minutes, Sully sat back and spoke around a mouthful of potatoes. "I figure that tomorrow morning we can set that thing up in your room," he addressed Rafe, "So think about where you want it tonight."

Rafe nodded in acknowledgement, but didn't speak.

"By 'we', I'm assuming you mean me," Sam commented after swallowing his bite. "Please tell me you at least kept the instructions for it."

"No, I mean me and Rafe," Sully answered, as if it should have been obvious. "Why the hell would I need instructions? If I can fly a plane, I can build a simple frame. How hard could it be?"

At that, Sam rolled his eyes. "Oh, God."

Rafe looked up from his plate and raised a brow. "You have potatoes in your mustache."

"Hm? Oh, thanks." Sully grabbed a napkin and wiped his mouth, the irony in Rafe's voice lost on him.

The other two shared a look, the one time that night Rafe found it acceptable to glance Drake's way, then he turned away to keep eating.

"Wait," Sam looked at Sully with mock surprise, the first part of his answer dawning on him, "You actually want to do work in the morning? Victor, are you feeling alright?"

Sully smirked. "I'm swell, thanks for asking. I just figure that you'll have enough to do tomorrow." He glanced at Rafe. "Both of you will."

Rafe looked up again and narrowed his eyes. This felt suspiciously like the time Sully dropped the bomb of who'd be washing dishes on them.

Sully answered the unspoken question. "Tomorrow, you're going to be fixing that hole you made in the bathroom."

"I don't know how to," Rafe responded, immediately dismissing the idea.

"I know. That's why Sam is going to teach you." Sully watched for signs of trouble. Rafe had just complained to him about being left alone with Sam, and now he was going to force the two of them to work together. He knew the kid wasn't going to be happy.

Rafe suppressed a scowl, keeping his face neutral to hide his displeasure at that announcement. "I thought you said I wasn't going to be punished for that."

"It's not a punishment," Sully said matter-of-factly. "I've told you enough times, you're expected to clean up the messes you've caused, just like everyone else. That's all I'm telling you to do now."

"And why can't you teach me?"

"Because I don't know how," Sully answered honestly. "I could probably piece something together if I had to, but it'd look like a goddamn mess, and I doubt it would keep very well. I don't have the advantage of a million different odd jobs under my belt."

Rafe continued eating, acting as if he didn't care. "Fine." If he didn't have a choice, then he'd have to either come to terms with it or come up with a way to get out of it. He had all night to mull it over.

By the afternoon of the next day, Rafe had a brand-new punching bag set up in the corner of his room, along with a pair of gloves and some wraps for his hands. He doubted he would need any of it for anger release like Sully thought he did- he was perfectly capable of keeping his temper in check- but if it made the old man feel safer then there was no harm in having it there. Besides, after spending all that time at Nadine's in a cell, and then spending more time living a soft life in this house, he'd need it to get back in fighting shape, so he wasn't going to complain.

He was going to complain about his next task, though. He had already tried using the dishes as an excuse, but Sully said that he'd be willing to do them instead if it meant the bathroom would get done sooner. Asshole. He still had other options, though, and he was going to keep trying until he ran out.

Sam was already setting things up in the bathroom and getting the equipment ready. He said he was going to come get Rafe when it was time to start, which 'shouldn't be too long from now.' Rafe decided to jump the gun and stand in the bathroom entrance before he was called. Everything was going to be on his terms, including when he showed up.

Sam was sitting on the side of the tub, mixing a bucket of compound. It was a lot more than they'd need today, but he told Sully to buy extra supplies because he had a feeling they'd be patching a few more holes before the year was over. He had his head down, so he didn't notice when Rafe made his appearance. He was standing there for a few minutes before Sam finally saw him, then he nearly jumped out of his skin.

He really wished the brat would stop sneaking around like that. He had an uncanny ability to make exactly the amount of noise that he wanted to, including no noise at all. He was going to give one of them a heart attack at this rate.

"What do you want?" he asked, exasperation slipping into his voice. "I'm not ready for you yet."

Rafe smirked. Catching people off guard always gave him a sense of satisfaction, especially when it was someone he didn't particularly like. Instead of answering right away, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorway. "This is bullshit. I don't want to do this, and I know you don't want to do it with me. Am I right so far?"

"If you're going to be whining the entire time instead of just doing what I tell you to, yeah," Sam agreed. "But that doesn't change anything."

Rafe pursed his lips, quelling the urge to argue. He didn't whine, but right now wasn't the time to discuss that. "I'm going to do both of us a favor and talk to the old man and see if I can get him to change his mind."

Sam snorted and returned to mixing the compound. "Yeah, good luck with that one," he said. "I'll be ready in ten minutes, alright? Will I have to come and get you?"

"You won't have to," Rafe answered. "If I'm not here by then, just assume you don't need me anymore and do it yourself."

Sam paused long enough to give Rafe a hard look. "Just how stupid do you think I am?"

Rafe didn't reply to that. He smiled sweetly and slipped back into the hallway to go to the kitchen, where the old man was still washing dishes. Just from a glance, he doubted that Sam was going to be any happier with Sully's job than he was with Rafe's. He wondered if Sam was going to make Sully feel the plates for grease too.

Rafe walked over and stood closely by Sully's side, but not close enough to actually be touching him. Then he waited.

It still took Sully a few moments, but when he finally saw him out of the corner of his eye he smirked over at him. "Hey kid. Everything going okay?"

"It's going great for me." Rafe answered. "Sam says it's too humid to do anything about the hole right now. There's a small chance we can fix it tonight, but otherwise, we'll need to try again in the morning."

"Uh huh," Sully placed a cleaned plate into the drying rack and reached for another. "But he's still setting everything up right now?"

"He just found out," Rafe lied smoothly. "He did a test patch on the wall and it isn't drying very well. There's some worry about humidity getting trapped, or expansion, or something like that. I wasn't really listening, it wasn't important to me. He still wants to be prepared for later, though, in case tonight works out, so he's getting everything ready." He hesitated then. Did he dare to push his luck? "Of course, he might just be waiting for me to get locked in my room before he starts. I don't think he really wants me there; he said I'd probably be getting in the way."

Sully eyed him, but kept his tone even. "Is that so?"

"I am the last person who would ever say this, but he's probably right." Rafe crossed his arms. "This isn't like wiping a table. Fixing a wall isn't exactly a skill that I possess, nor is it one I will ever require."

"Of course you will," Sully picked up a drinking glass and wiped his sponge around its interior. "You need it right now, to fix the hole you made."

Rafe fought to keep from glowering. The old man was too obstinate for his own good. "That's not what I was saying; I won't need it outside of this little hell-hole. That's what carpenters and contractors are for."

"If it's too humid to do it today, I want to hear it from Sam," Sully said abruptly, turning off the faucet so he could look fully over at Rafe. "No offense, kid, but you're not exactly in any position to want to tell me the truth right now, and if there was a problem, Sam wouldn't have sent you to tell me."

This time, he couldn't stop the anger from crossing his face. "So, you don't trust me?"

Sully cocked his head to the side. "When it comes to you getting out of work? Have you given me a reason to?"

"I wasn't aware that I had to." Rafe put as much accusation into his voice as possible, trying to guilt the old man, if reasoning didn't work. This was not going the way he wanted it to go. Granted, it had only a small chance of working from the beginning, but he was still going to persist.

"Kid, I do trust you, with certain things," Sully answered, then shook his head. "But that trust has limits- limits that you helped put in place. This isn't something I can take on faith alone."

Before Rafe could come up with a response, Sam called out from the bathroom. "It's ready, brat. Let's get it over with."

Rafe turned and directed a glare at the wall that stood between him and Drake. Sam had impeccable timing.

Sully smirked wryly. "Go take care of it. You and I are going to talk about that lie when you're done." He turned the water back on so he could get the lunch dishes over with.

"Good," Rafe muttered flippantly. "I was hoping for soap with a side of tea today."

Sully snorted with amusement. "Glad you're looking forward to it."

Rafe looked back at the old man, trying to convey how un-funny this whole thing was and how much he didn't appreciate it, then slowly began walking towards the bathroom.

"I thought I told you not to call me," he said accusingly as soon as he got to the doorway.

"You did," Sam acknowledged, "But you're not in charge here, so I ignored you."

Rafe narrowed his eyes, then looked away. He could feel a headache forming at his temples, and they hadn't even started doing anything yet.

Sam lifted up a small square of drywall with paper trailing over the edges. "This isn't going to take long, just listen up." He was supposed to teach Rafe how to do it, so he began explaining, "The first thing I did was-"

"I don't care," Rafe interrupted him flatly.

"I'm just telling you-"

"I don't care," Rafe repeated. "I don't need to know what you did. Just tell me what I have to do."

Sam took a deep breath and held it for a second. He was getting a headache of his own. "Fine," he held out the square. "Take this and that pencil over there. Hold it up to the hole you made and trace around the drywall, not the paper backing."

Rafe looked at the square and crossed his arms without taking it. "You couldn't do that?"

"I could have, easily," Sam answered, "But it's not my job. My job is to cut what needs to be cut and tell you how to do the rest."

Rafe gave Sam a look that would have sent any of his employees quailing, but Sam matched it. Finally, Rafe took the square and held it to the wall.

"Make sure the hole is completely covered before you trace."

"Good call, telling me that," Rafe responded sarcastically, "I was planning on being fucking stupid today."

"You're being pretty stupid with that attitude, so I'd say you're already ahead of yourself."

"And yet I still can't get to your level." Rafe carefully dragged the pencil along the edges. As much as he wanted to make this difficult for Sam, there was a part of him that had to make the lines as perfect as he could. He was a professional, after all. When he was done, he stepped back and looked over at the older man.

"Good," Sam nodded in approval. He picked up a boxcutter and carefully scored along the lines, then took up a tool with a serrated blade. "This is a drywall sa-"

"I don't need to know that."

"Are you really that worried about learning something today?" Sam eyed him.

"I will never, ever need to know any of this beyond right now," Rafe answered.

"Until you get mad and punch the wall again," Sam mumbled to himself and cut out the lines around the hole, then lifted the tub of compound he had been mixing. "Now, this is-"

"I. Don't. Care," Rafe ground out, as if he was talking to a particularly stupid dog.

"Okay, interrupt me one more time and you're getting swatted," Sam held up a finger in warning.

Rafe's ears got hot and his face turned red from embarrassment. Of all the words Sam could have used, he chose that one, like he was a fly. He wasn't even sure how to respond to that without sounding petulant, so kept his mouth shut and looked at Sam disdainfully.

On the plus side, now he had figured out one of Sam's pet peeves, something he could put to use in the future.

"Put your square on the newspaper there," Sam said, pointing to a covered spot in the floor. "You're going to take this joint compound and spread it on the back of the paper lining. Think you can handle that?"

Rafe didn't respond. He knelt down and put his drywall on the floor, then took the wide-bladed tool that Sam offered him. He smeared compound over the paper, then stood and carried it to the wall without being told to. It was pretty obvious what he was supposed to do next. Sam didn't protest, so he slid the square into the hole and pressed down the paper edge.

"Good," Sam praised with a hint of dryness in his tone, and he picked up the joint knife Rafe had used for the compound. "Now you're going to spread this over the whole thing, but there's a trick to doing it. Move over, I'll show you."

The rest of the afternoon was spent spreading the compound (using feathering, like this was some kind of fucking art project), waiting for it to dry, and sanding it down, only for Sam to decide it needed another layer of compound over the first, which also had to be feathered, dried, and sanded.

By the end of it, Rafe felt unpleasantly grimy and sweaty, and his arms were sore. He was pretty sure that Sam had enjoyed watching him suffer through that whole ordeal.

Sam ran a hand over the spot, feeling for any roughness that he couldn't see. All in all, it wasn't bad for a first attempt. "It still needs a coat of paint, maybe two, but that can wait for tomorrow," he decided. "Nice job."

"Great," Rafe said, making it clear he didn't care. "Now get out. I want to take a shower."

"What, you're not going to help me put all of this away?"

Sam chuckled at the look that passed the brat's face. "Alright, I guess I can handle this part." There weren't too many supplies, overall, and he was able to gather up everything in one go. Now he just had to find a place to store it all. He didn't need Rafe finding it and deciding to get creative.

He noticed a buildup of dust and particles by the wall from all the sanding Rafe had done, but he'd get Victor to clean that up later. The old bastard needed to contribute somehow.

Once Sam was out of the way, Rafe went to his room for some clothes and a towel, then began washing away every memory of that horrible experience.

Sully had finished the dishes and had decided to make himself a snack by the time Sam was done putting the supplies away. "How'd he do?"

"Oh, the usual," Sam answered, immediately walking towards the dish drain. "There was lots of whining and complaining, but eventually he got around to doing what I told him." He frowned, looking everything over. "Victor, I appreciate the gesture… But next time, just let me wash them instead."

"I'm sure they're fine," Sully carried some buttered bread and cheese over to the stove, ignoring the looks of reproach from the older Drake. "How does the wall itself look?"

Sam began transferring the dishes from the drain back into the sink. "I thought they taught you better in the navy," he muttered under his breath, then spoke louder for Sully to hear. "Once the paint goes on, it shouldn't be too noticeable."

When he heard the shower turn on, he turned towards Sully and crossed his arms. "He needs to be spanked, Victor. Badly. More than just a few love taps."

"Oh, I know he does," Sully agreed, taking an already greasy pan and adding too much butter on it before putting it back on the burner. "He's gotten pretty comfortable in the past week, milking that honey bottle."

"No, he's gotten spoiled," Sam corrected and reached for his pack of cigarettes. "He thinks he can get away with things now, and that he doesn't have to listen to us. And you're not helping."

"See, the problem is, he isn't stupid enough to do anything to actually land himself in trouble," Sully told him, "And I'm not about to spank him for something arbitrary like an attitude. It won't work."

"Why not?" Sam asked. He lit his cigarette and turned back to the sink, running the water. He grabbed the sponge and made it soapy, then began to scrub his annoyance out on the plates. "It'd at least humble him a little."

Sully waited for his pan to get hot enough to melt the butter he had put in, then he gently placed one of the slices of bread, butter side down. He added the cheese, then put the final layer of bread on top. "You're frustrated, I get that. I am too," he said calmly. "But a spanking wouldn't have worked for your attitude either, that's why you got kicked out of the orphanage. If you didn't think you earned it, you'd just get resentful." He looked over his shoulder. "You wouldn't even do that to Nate, remember?"

Sam took a deep breath. Nate had never been as bad as Rafe was in the first place; he seemed to be completely missing the arrogant streak Sam had inherited from their father.

But, during the occasions when Nate had been difficult without being bad, it was always solved with a trip to Catholic Mass rather than a trip over his knee. Making him sit through a service did wonders for Nate's behavior, whether it was an attitude or it was one of the few occasions his little brother had decided to expand his vocabulary, and expand it in Sam's direction. And, even though back then he already knew it was far too late for his own soul, he didn't see a problem helping his little brother in the after-life, so it was a good solution to the problem.

"Okay, you're right," he answered. "But we have to do something. Mass isn't going to work on Rafe, he's used to sitting through board meetings." Not that they could actually take him anywhere if they wanted to right now.

"Just be patient, I don't think it'll be too long before the occasion arises," Sully mused. "He was telling me the fattest lie before you called him in to help you. He already knows he's getting his mouth washed for it. He doesn't know we know about the honey yet, and when he finds out I wouldn't be surprised if he does something to retaliate." Of course, he'd be much happier if Rafe just accepted that he did something wrong and got caught, but Victor was a realist, and that just wasn't going to happen.

Sam paused and raised a brow. "Oh really? What was the lie?"

"It was a work of art," Sully smirked. He had run enough cons to appreciate a good lie when he heard one, even if it was being said to his face. "With all the details he threw in there, I would have easily believed it, if I didn't know better." He flipped his grilled cheese over. "He tried to throw you under the bus, of course, but the way he did it…"

Just as Rafe was pulling his pants on, there was a knock on the bathroom door. He hoped that Sam hadn't remembered some other torture he had to go through for the stupid wall.

"You'll have to give me a moment," he called out, more to figure out who was knocking than as a courtesy. Whoever it was, they would wait for him to get dressed regardless. No one was seeing him in his underwear or without a shirt on.

"That's why I knocked," Sully called through. "You don't have to open up right away, but don't dawdle.

When Rafe was completely clothed, with his hair raked back the way he liked it, he opened the door and peered out. "Let me guess; you're here to make sure I'm thoroughly cleaned."

"I suppose you could put it that way," Sully looked back at him with amusement. "I figure that now is better than later for both of us."

"Whatever." Rafe stepped out of the way and pulled the door further open. "I have more important things to do."

"Oh, do you? Like what?"

"Like slowly stabbing myself with a spoon."

Sully snorted. "Well then, don't worry, this won't take long." He walked past Rafe into the bathroom and washed his hands, then dried them and opened the cabinet.

He had a hard time mulling over what to do about the honey. His first thought was just to switch it out with a bottle of real soap and let Rafe deal with that surprise once he tasted it. He knew that's what Sam wanted to do about it. But he also knew that the kid wouldn't be prepared for it, and would therefore have a completely genuine, uninhibited reaction to the soap, and he would not appreciate having that forced out of him. At the very least, he would misinterpret the intention behind it. It might teach him a lesson about not sneaking behind their backs, but Sully was worried that it would undo whatever rapport he had built up between them. In the long run, it would do more damage than good.

He and Sam had eventually settled on a different idea. From the medicine cabinet he took out a thick, rounded bar of soap- 'original' scented, whatever that meant- and a washcloth.

Rafe didn't move his stance, but Sully could see him instantly tense up, eying the bar intently.

"What is that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Exactly what it looks like," Sully answered, unwrapping the bar over the sink.

Rafe paused for a moment, contemplating. "Why are you using that and not the one you've been using? Soap is soap."

"But honey isn't soap," Sully looked over at him. "And this form is a lot harder to swap out with something sweeter."

Rafe swallowed, but showed no outward signs of distress. "I suppose that's true," he said, keeping his voice steady, and smiled congenially at the old man. "But how would I be able to do that in the first place? You two are watching me all the time, and you keep everything locked up."

"You're very good at coming up with distractions," Sully answered, "Which we knew, of course, but I have to admit, I underestimated you." He turned the faucet on. "Now cut the bullcrap, Rafe. I know you're smart enough to figure out that you can't get out of this one, no matter what you try. Are you going to come clean, or are you going to get yourself in more trouble?"

Rafe studied him for a moment, then shrugged and crossed his arms defiantly, the smile dropping from his face. "Well, you have to admit, I had you going for a bit. It wasn't a bad plan."

"No, it wasn't," Sully agreed, "But you had to know you'd run out of honey eventually. What were you going to do then? Stage another mess?"

"I was hoping you'd give up on the idea by then," Rafe answered. "You're a stubborn old man, you know that? How'd you find out?"

"I'll take that as a compliment," Sully smiled grimly. "Sam's the one who noticed it. The seal on the soap bottle isn't tight enough to keep water from evaporating. The honey was starting to harden."

"Of course," Rafe nodded shortly. "Remind me to thank him later."

"Sure." Sully picked up a green washcloth. "I want you to understand, kid, that I am being very lenient with you right now. If Sam had his way, you wouldn't be able to sit for quite some time. However, I see this whole thing as a form of complex lie, and since you haven't put as much effort into getting out of discussions as much as you have this, I think an extra-long soaping will do. And since you've lied so goddamn much the past week trying to convince us you don't need this, I've come up with a new system to go with it."

Rafe eyed him warily then, but kept his mouth shut. If the old man was waiting for a prompting question then he wasn't going to get it.

After the bar was nice and soapy, Sully began to explain. "It's just like the baseball system. The first time you lie, that's strike one, and we'll use the green cloth for it. That's just a normal mouth-washing. The second time, we use a yellow cloth. That means that after you get your mouth washed, before you can rinse it out, we're going to have a short talk. Third strike is red, and that's when you get to keep the soap in your mouth during a much longer talk. The whole thing resets at the end of the day. Do you understand that?"

Rafe's expression went from shock to anger before settling on contempt. They were subtle changes, and people who didn't know him probably wouldn't have even noticed. "You don't need to be patronizing with the colors," he scowled. "I know how to keep count."

Sully raised a brow. That wasn't the first thing he expected the kid to complain about. "That's more for mine and Sam's benefit than yours," he told him, "That way we open the drawer and know exactly which level you're at, in case of any miscommunication, like if you're trying to tell us differently."

"Sullivan," Rafe smiled darkly, "I would never try to outsmart you two. Clearly, you're the superiors."

"Don't get all sentimental," Sully held the bar of soap in the cloth. "Open up."

Rafe's eyes shifted between Sully and the soap. He didn't trust this development at all. Logically, one form of soap shouldn't taste any worse than the other, but he couldn't believe that this was all he was getting after being found out. Besides, by now Sully had to know that his willingness in those previous… incidents… had been an act. He wasn't docile by any means, and didn't want them to think that he would go along with just anything.

On the other hand, if this was just a case of the old man going soft on him, he didn't want to screw it up and get with something worse. There was also the ever-present danger of them thinking they could actually intimidate him with these threats.

"Please tell me you're planning on using that washcloth instead of shoving that whole thing in my mouth."

Sully shook his head. "You're the one who wanted to mess with the old way. Now you have to deal with this."

Rafe held out his hand. "Then at least let me do it. My gag reflex isn't exactly experienced at things like this."

"I'm sure you'll live," Sully told him. "Enough stalling. Open your mouth."

Rafe hesitated for a split-second, then straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and opened.

"Thank you." Sully didn't give him a chance to change his mind. He pushed the square of soap in his mouth and pressed down to rub it over his tongue.

Rafe resisted the urge to spit it out right away. It tasted just as foul as he remembered, maybe even worse. He could feel a thick coating of slime cover his tongue from the bar, overwhelming his taste buds and causing his face to turn red and his eyes to water immediately.

Then, when he thought that Sully was done, that sonuva bitch just left it in his mouth! He took the washcloth away and threw it in the sink, but the bar stayed put.

"Don't spit it out until I tell you to," Sully warned him while rinsing his hands off. "Lean over the sink if you have to- actually, I'd advise that, since you definitely don't want to swallow too much- but leave it in your mouth, unless you want to go through this again for twice the amount of time. Trust me, it's going to be long enough as is."

Rafe glared at him, fighting hard to keep his reflexes under control. As soon as Sully moved out of the way, he went over to the sink and gripped both sides, bracing his weight against it. He refused to look up at himself in the mirror, instead he looked down and concentrated on not vomiting.

He was tempted to just throw the bar of soap down and refuse to participate in this, but he knew that would be futile, and he would just end up back in the same position, only more sore this time. Sully really was a stubborn old man. Besides, that would just show the others how much he hated this, and he knew they would use that to their advantage. He just had to make it through the first time and show that it wasn't a problem for him.

Sully stood by the doorway, giving him space. He glanced at his watch. The poor kid was going to have to put up with this for five minutes if he was good, ten if he didn't cooperate. That was a long time, but there was no doubt that he deserved it. He had a lot of fake punishments that he had to make up for now. Still, Sully wasn't going to make it any harder on him than he had to, so he was going to keep to the side and stay quiet, giving Rafe the ability to pretend he wasn't there.

After the first agonizing minute passed, Rafe squeezed his eyes shut. The pungent taste was making his mouth water, and drool was just dripping from his mouth, down the bar, and into the sink. It was completely undignified, and he didn't even want to see himself like this, much less fathom the idea that someone else was witnessing it. The thought was too harrowing, so he shoved it to the back of his mind, never to be brought up again.

Right now he had to concentrate on staying still, trying not to cry, and doing whatever he could to alleviate his mouth. The soap was slippery, and he had to bite down on it a little to keep it from falling out- he did not want to extend this punishment for any amount of time- but that brought the discovery that by holding it in place with his teeth, he could press his tongue down in his mouth and keep it from touching the bar. Of course, that meant that there was more room for drool to collect, but he had to choose the lesser of two evils here.

By the time the five minutes were up, tears were rolling down his face, his breath was ragged from the effort of keeping himself together, and his mouth was growing tired from staying open so long. His body actually convulsed a few times, trying to spit the soap out even when he told it not to. It was a relief when Sully grabbed the bar with the wash cloth again and told him he could let go.

He did, then dropped his head, keeping his eyes screwed shut. He held his breath to try and get it back under control. Even though the bar was gone, there was a thick coating of scum and suds all over his mouth, so it wasn't easy to recover.

Sully didn't comment. He grabbed one of the paper cups and filled it with water, then pressed it against Rafe's hand.

Rafe took it gratefully and immediately began to rinse the vulgar taste from his mouth. He only had two mouthfuls to wash with, but he was able to get most of the residue out with just that small amount. When he was done, he wiped his face on his sleeve, then finally opened his eyes again.

"You took that pretty well, kid," Sully put a hand on his shoulder.

Rafe glared and shrugged it off, unsure if Sully was being sarcastic or not. Either way, he didn't want the old man touching him, not after that experience.

"Don't look at me like that," Sully watched him, alert for any signs that Rafe might try to punch him again. "You brought it on yourself. Not even you can deny that."

Rafe didn't trust himself to speak, so he kept up the sullen glaring.

Sully shook his head. "I told you before, I don't appreciate being manipulated. Don't try that again, Rafe. If you do anything to sabotage this bar then I'm just going to start using lard." He doubted Rafe's west-coast mentality would be able to handle that one.

Rafe's eyes widened, and he gagged, then dry-heaved over the sink. That might have been an empty threat, but he felt sick just from the idea.

Sully immediately put his hand on his back to steady him, but Rafe pulled away again. Alright, he was mad, and Sully could understand that. He'd need some time to recover from this indignity. That was fine, as long as he didn't start throwing his fists around again, or scheming. "You can go to your room if you want to," he said gently. "We're done now."

Rafe nodded an acknowledgement and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then left the bathroom without looking at the older man.

The familiar knot of anger was back, and much worse this time.