Chapter 6. Equivocal Legacy

"I'm sorry, Dad. I'm not ready to be an adult yet."

Jess closed his eyes painfully. At the same moment, a groaning roar of frustration erupted from behind the closed door. Jess reached out and twisted the door handle, flinging it open to reveal the small, raven haired twelve-year-old who was now weaving in an attempt to keep her balance in her awkward, crouched position, without the support of the recently removed door. She lost the battle and landed on her knees with a thud. She bit the side of her lip as her Dad stood there looking down at her, and her eyes took a wandering, circular path before landing back on his with an attempt at a cheerful expression.

"Hi!"

Privately, Jess could've kissed his little girl for providing comic relief at just this moment…but that would've sent slightly the wrong message. He crouched down beside her.

"Hi," he returned her greeting warmly, minus the high-pitched chipper tone she'd nervously adopted. "You're legs must be tired. That's a long time to crouch with your ear pressed up to a door," he remarked.

"I hadn't noticed my legs till now, 'cause the conversation was interesting, but really hard to hear."

"Kind of the point of the closed door," he said with eyebrows raised. "I know you're concerned for your brother. And the curiosity and suspense are probably eating you alive, but when anybody in this family comes in here and shuts the door, that means what's going on inside is private…or at least, it's supposed to be. So, putting your ear to the door to eavesdrop is really not allowed."

"I know, but it's always interesting. And nobody tells me anything! How else am I supposed to learn stuff?"

How that girl managed to sound so innocent, while convicting herself of her most heinous crimes…no, this wasn't one of them, not by a long-shot…was a mystery to her dad. He bit his lips together in an attempt not to laugh, even as he cringed at the thought of how many interesting things she could've learned through that door. He shook his head at her with an amused expression as he stood up and motioned for her to join him. His finger twirled in the air above her head. She turned obediently with a sigh, and he gave her a swat, just soft enough that it didn't hurt, just hard enough to show that, despite his expression, he wasn't playing.

"That's for learning stuff you're not s'posed to learn in ways you're not s'posed to learn it!" he told her with a smirk. "Now scoot! And don't let me catch you listening at doors anymore!"

The little girl scurried, but not without a murmured, "Don't worry…you won't," at which her dad cleared his throat loudly - yeah, I heard that - and she turned and walked backward with a supposedly meek expression on her face that was completely ruined by her audacious, twinkling eyes. He shook his head again…the amount of trouble those eyes got her out of…and into…

Jess was grateful for the intermission, and sorry it was over. He closed the dark, hardwood door again, and stood for a moment facing it. When he turned, he didn't look toward Oliver. He strolled to the desk and picked up the paddle, feeling a rush of fear, almost enough to take his breath away, make him lightheaded, but so many other emotions followed in its wake. It was bizarre how much he could both vehemently loathe and yet have a strange, lingering fondness for a piece of wood. He remembered Luke expressing hatred for it, while he had laughed at his uncle, and teased him about it. And yet, Luke hadn't gotten rid of it. He'd given it to Jess. That was where the fondness came from. Was it sad that when he looked at this thing, he saw Luke? Luke with all his bumbling and his determination to be the kind of uncle he had really needed…the closest thing to a real father he had ever had. It was Luke's love and his good intentions. This piece of wood, this thing in his hand, was the only tangible piece of family Jess really had. Luke's grandfather had made it, and passed it down, in more than one sense. Why couldn't it have been a pocket-watch? Or, with the level of woodworking skill, craftsmanship, that was evidenced, why not a cradle…or some kind of…wooden toy? Not that it was a legacy without value… The day Luke had used that thing, he really had learned a great deal about how much his uncle loved him. Still. He'd give almost anything not to have to use it. That was the crux of the matter. He could almost love this horrible piece of wood when he thought of Luke, and he absolutely hated it when he thought of Oliver. That had to be how Luke had felt. Maybe his father had felt the same way.

Jess ran his fingers along its smooth surface punctuated by evenly drilled and beveled holes, tested the weight of it in one hand, then the other. The motions were entirely unnecessary, but he was stalling, thinking, wishing his son would change his mind. Thankfully, the incident with Laura had coaxed him out of the pent up tears, but looking at this thing, holding it, thinking about the kind of paddling he'd promised his son he was willing to deliver, was making him vaguely ill. And, heart-sore, he wondered if Rory was ever going to forgive him for this…and for that, how long it would take him to forgive himself.

He turned to Oliver.

He came and sat next to his son, still holding the thing in his hand. "I've got a problem," he told him. Oliver, who'd slumped down in his seat as his dad had stood handling the paddle, raised his head and his gaze. "I messed up," Jess admitted to his son, absently slapping the paddle against his palm, not as an intimidation factor, but simply because Jess found it nearly impossible to sit anyplace without fidgeting with something. He realized quickly that the motion was potentially intimidating, and that while he was doing it, Oliver wasn't hearing a word, and swiftly deposited it on the seat next to him.

"I messed up," he repeated, now that he had Oliver's attention back, "pretty bad." He began weaving, twisting and unweaving his fingers. "See, earlier today, I promised you that I would help you to deal with this, and that if necessary, I would…well, I'd essentially give you the paddling of your life. Pretty sure that's how you took it, and that's pretty well what I meant." Oliver nodded briefly. "Trouble is…I didn't have any right to promise that." The expected look of confusion appeared on Oliver's face. He bit his lips together a moment before continuing.

"When I brought this thing home," he said, head nodding toward where he'd set the paddle, "your mom was not happy about it. The fact that you kids got spanked at all, ever, was already a huge concession on her part. That I'd even consider using something like this…just plain scared her. So, I made her a promise. I told her that I would never use it unless the two of us talked about it first, and agreed that it was really warranted.

"Well…I talked to her about this. And, she doesn't agree." He paused. "At the same time, she knows that I made you a promise, even if I shouldn't have, and I can't very well go back on that." Jess looked Oliver in the eye, his quandary becoming clearer. "But, I just can't see…helping you to deal with your guilt over hurting your mother…by doing something that's…well, frankly, that's going to hurt her even more! Do you see where I'm coming from?"

"Yeah…" Oliver said, nodding slowly. Jess could see that he was trying to work the problem out in his head too. "Maybe you could…" he struggled for what might make the situation better, "use something else, like…I don't know…a…a belt, or…a-" he stopped, mentally kicking himself, as his father's face blanched at the suggestion. "I'm just gonna shut up now."

Jess steepled his hands in front of his mouth, as he tried to come up with a better solution, while some unhelpful corner of his mind said that his son's suggestion would be appropriate punishment for himself, having to use something that horrified him just as much as the paddle horrified his wife. He kicked that corner into next week, and continued mulling over the problem. A light suddenly appeared in his eyes, and if anybody could've seen behind his steepled hands, they would have seen his lips twitch irresistibly. His eyes shot towards his son.

"What?" Oliver asked, as his dad's hands went down, revealing a look of unsuccessfully squelched amusement and triumph.

"I didn't promise that I would paddle you," Jess said, a sudden eager energy coloring his voice, "I said that I was going to help you deal with your guilt…get rid of it. And, that's exactly what I'm going to do!" He sprang to his feet with a half-cheerful, half-evil glint to his eye. "Come on, let's go!"

"Go where?" Oliver asked, hesitantly standing up. That look was not to be trusted.

"To find your mother!" Jess answered hurriedly. "Come on!"

"Why?" Oliver asked. He didn't know what change had come over his father, and something told him that, even though it was unlikely to involve a paddle, he still wasn't going to like it.

"I've figured out how to punish you, but she needs to be there to hear it!"

Oliver's expression was clearly What the-?

"Come on! Come on!"

A/N: Stop looking at me like that! I gave you an update as soon as Oliver was out of the woods! Before I wrote any more! As soon as I possibly could! Yes, that means another cliffhanger…yes, I'm cruel and evil…but I had the option of being cruel and evil and making you wait (at a much more uncomfortable cliffhanger, I might add), or posting this, and giving you a more intriguing, but less painful cliffhanger. You're still gonna kill me, aren't you?