Author's Notes: I am so unbelievably sorry about the length of time in between postings. I really should know better that starting to post a multiple chaptered story at the end of March is just a stupid idea. I thought with hockey done, I'd have more time to post, but apparently the various revenue agencies don't see it that way. (I work in accounting, and in the US, April 15th is the filing deadline. Subsequently, I run around like a headless chicken for the first two weeks of April.) Anyway, here's chapter four, otherwise known as the, "Chris Pike is epically pissed off," chapter. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or that really awesome 'Facebook parenting for the troubled teen' video. No money is made. Please don't sue.

Chapter 4

Was it something he said?

Ethan Pike was at a complete loss. He'd wracked his brain through Macro Economics (he really should have been paying attention during that one, but for God's sake, who can listen to talk about GDP and national credit ratings at 7:30 in the damned morning?), fiddled with a few hypotheses during biology while he half listened to his teacher talk about genetics, and tuned out most of his algebra lesson in favor of doodling pictures in his notebook. By the time he was walking to lunch, Ethan was still no closer to solving the mystery of the random side eye he was receiving from a good portion of the student body.

The long and the short of it was that this simply wouldn't do.

Being a cop's son had distinctly awesome perks (ridealongs), but it also had glaring disadvantages (angry transference from peers). Though his father wasn't responsible for the collective misery many perceived the police inflicted on society as a whole, Chris was the arresting officer in more than a few cases that affected Ethan's classmates. But while the children of Pike's arrestees weren't usually shy about voicing their displeasure, the sheer volume of reactions he was garnering told Ethan that for once, his dad's job wasn't at fault for his latest teenage drama.

Ethan shuffled his way through the lunch line, snagging a hamburger, French fries and something the school was trying to pass off as chocolate pudding from the ready-made food bar. He exited the kitchen area and scanned the crowd for a few familiar faces, or at least a place to sit. When he saw Pavel wave an enthusiastic hand, Ethan sighed with relief, adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and headed towards his friend.

"Word," the younger Pike mumbled gruffly as he plopped down on the unoccupied sliver of the lunch table's bench seat.

"Dobre ootrom, moy droog," Chekov answered through a healthy mouthful of salad.

Snorting loudly, Ethan dunked his fries liberally through the glob of ketchup on his tray. He pointed the end at Pavel and said, "Dude, we're eating lunch. It's not morning anymore. And besides, what about this day is good?"

"It is still before noon. That makes it morning," the Russian replied cheerfully. When he didn't get at least a smirk back in return, Chekov's face fell. "What is wrong, my friend? Is there more trouble with your motherland?"

"The motherland? No, she's fine. It's the fatherland that's not being too cool right now." Ethan waved a hand through the air to stop Pavel's mouth from running away with his brain. "It's nothing worse than what we talked about the other night. Same shit, different day."

"I take it your grades are still cause for concern?"

"Yes and no, but it's nothing I can't handle," Ethan said, leaning forward. He reached down for his backpack under the table and pulled his water bottle from the mesh side pocket. Taking a long sip, he tilted his head left and right and added, "But everyone's been giving me really strange looks today, and it's creeping me out. Dad hasn't arrested people en masse for a really long time, so I know it's not anything he did for once. I dunno. Can't figure it out."

Pavel's jaws crunched his salad once, then twice before they came to a direct halt. He swallowed roughly, washing his food down with a hearty swig of tomato juice. Carefully, he said, "Well, I do not think that statement is entirely accurate. You father is a wery persuasive man when he is getting a point across. And inwentive, too. I may have to speak to him about his methods. They are effective."

Ethan getting more and more confused and then is all, "Chekov, what the hell are you talking about?"

Pavel raised an eyebrow. "You have not seen the video? It is all over Facebook."

"No, my dad's had my computer for a couple of days now. He says he's fixing it, and he took away my cell phone because of my grades." Ethan shoved his hamburger aside and folded his hands in front of his chest. Staring as hard as he could at his friend, growled, "Now, what video are you talking about?"

Chekov's face fell. "Oh. I must assume that you have not seen the most recent video your father posted on his wall?"

"If I knew about it, would I be asking you right now?"

"Nyet. Good point," Chekov agreed. He shifted in his seat and pulled his phone from his pocket. Looking furtively around, his eyes cased the lunchroom for any overzealous hall monitors with sticky, cell-phone confiscating fingers. When he deduced the coast was clear, Pavel opened up his Facebook app and directed the browser to the correct video. He slid the device over to his friend, but before he relinquished control, he asked, "Are you sure you want to see this? Your father is wery displeased in this clip."

Ethan pursed his lips and scoffed, leaning back in his chair as he waved a hand through the air. "I've lived with the man for fifteen years now. I think I can handle it."

"Your choice, my friend, your choice." The Russian grabbed his tray and stood. "I must go. I am assisting faculty for this year's senior physics project, and we are having a safety meeting this afternoon. I have much to prepare."

"Yeah, right. You just need to go order your notes for your presentation. Don't front, dude. It ain't cool," Ethan joked with a smirk as he waited for the video to load. Pointing down to the phone, he asked, "Should I just give this back to you when I see you again?"

"That would be agreeable. I should see you before the day is over. We are on midterm break, so I do not have my college classes today." Patting his friend on the shoulder, Chekov added, "Be good, Ethan," before he walked away.

Ethan waved a hand over his shoulder as the Facebook video finally completed loading. A grey screen gave way to the visage of his father, in full uniform, sitting on a small stool against a cement wall. Perhaps the motorpool or Scotty's office, Ethan had very little time to place the room before his father started speaking. ''Evening, everybody," Pike began on the phone's tiny screen, his deep voice somehow cutting through the din of the school lunchroom. "I'm Chris Pike, and for those of you who don't know me, I'm Ethan Pike's dad. I'm sitting here this fine Saturday night making this video because I think my son needs a little lesson in proper manners and respect. And because he's not man enough to own up to his own actions, well, I think it's time for a little bit of tough love."

Ethan sighed. Great. Here goes his dad with another one of his famous, 'Tough love is a good thing,' speeches. Christ almighty, if his day wasn't horseshit enough. "Now, I want to take a little bit of time here to talk to my offspring. Ethan, you and I had words about your grades and the status of your classes when I came home from work the other day. I hoped that our little talk would have spurred some interest in your schoolwork, but the only thing it apparently accomplished was to make you act like more a whining brat. Son, instead of just getting your work done like we have to do in the real world, you decide to write a ranting letter and post it to Facebook? Are you kidding me?"

Ethan raised a contemplative eyebrow. What letter was his father talking about? He never posted anything of the kind. Sure, there was that two page bitch-fest he'd written after Chris tore strips off him the day his midterm grades were released, but-

Oh, shit.

Did he post that? Ethan could have sworn that he hit the 'cancel' option on his status update, because that letter really was nasty. Borne of anger and frustration, it wasn't ever written with an audience in mind. It was just a way for him to vent his rage in a more private manner before it actually exploded in a more public fashion. But hearing his dad's words and reading the expression on his face, Ethan began to believe that he might just experienced the mother of all PEBCAK errors. He gulped and rubbed a hand over his face, picking up the video in time to see his father's expression darken.

Chris didn't disappoint. Ethan was well acquainted with his father's 'street voice', the one the elder Pike used to command attention in a crowd of drunks, in a room full of rowdy police officers, or on a bus crammed with middle school aged kids as he chaperoned the annual science trip to the local amusement park. Booming, deep and intimidating, Ethan barely resisted the urge to shrink backwards in his seat when his dad started reading.

"I'm going to read what you wrote now for everyone to hear, especially since you never intended for any of the people you addressed in it to see it. Kid, you forget what I do for a living. We have people here whose jobs it is – professionally – to look into shenanigans like yours. Remember that if you live long enough after I'm done making this video for there to be a next time," he said, Pike's head bobbing back and forth as he talked.

The lieutenant raised his hands and unfurled a slightly crinkled piece of paper he retrieved from his lap. He pulled the reader glasses out of the pocket of his shirt and slipped them on. "This letter is called, 'Hypocrisy 101, Otherwise Known as Why My Parents Suck'." Pike pulled the paper down from his face and looked straight into the camera. "Do we now? Wait until I'm done here because you're going to want to revisit that statement."

The thinly veiled threat wasn't lost on the teen as Chris lowered his eyes and started at the top of the letter. ""I used to think it would be really cool if my parents forgot I existed. No one would bother me, no one would bitch and at me – life would be sweet. Well lately, my idiot parents have gotten half of it right. They forgot about me in most of the positive senses, but they still manage to stick their noses into my life long enough to make it a living hell. It's fucking awesome. Yep. It is. I love it'."

Ethan envisioned every angry word he'd typed on the page, he felt the despondency and hurt in his own chest, and he heard the cutting sarcasm as it oozed through his written tone. His father was also doing a pretty good job of sounding like a teenager; thus far, the elder Pike managed to perfectly portray Ethan's own syntax and speech patterns independent of the letter's writings itself. It was, in a word, disturbing.

"'I'll bet you're wondering why my life is so awesome. See, my dad has decided that one of his drama queen cops is more important than his own son. Come to my hockey game? 'I'll see if I can make it,' is usually the response I get, which lately, has meant no because he's too busy working. I scored my first hat trick this year as a varsity player, but both my parents missed that. He won't give me a hand with my homework, but he'll drop in to get in my face about my crappy midterm report. And when I say 'drop in', I really mean it, since he's been too busy covering for The Georgia Wonder lately to be at home for more than a few hours at a time."

Pike paused before he began the next paragraph. "'How many times did I hear this winter, "Just do me a favor, son" from my dad's mouth? A whole hell of a lot. It got old, really quickly. Like, having to snowblow the driveway after practice and after homework on mom's orders because dad was in the middle of an eight-on stretch, and God forbid if he came home to have to do more work. Who's fucking fault is it that he's taking a shift anyway? Sure as hell isn't mine. But do I get recognition for going above and beyond around the house? Not at all. No, a little 'thank you' would be too much to ask'."

"This is my favorite part," Chris admitted factitiously to the camera. "'What really chaps my ass is that I'm not worthy enough of even a response in return. Even when I figured out what was going on, you guys still lied right to my face. What? You can't trust me with the fact that one your guys fucked up his life? Who gives a shit! It's his fault he can't put the bottle down long enough to actually do his job. Why do I have to be the one to pay for it? Dad, if I can even call you that right now, you are unbelievable. You and mom will drop everything, any time of the goddamned day, for someone who was a complete stranger to us ten years ago. Why? What has he done for us, other than be a pain in the ass? Tell me that. Seriously'."

Pike stopped, wiped a hand over his face and blew out a big breath. "Ethan," he began, addressing his son directly, "I don't even know what to say in response to this next part, other than I hope you regret every single word you wrote. I still can't believe it came from you, so I'm just going to read it'."

The teen could hear the disappointment in his father's voice. Ethan could have dealt with Chris simply being pissed at him. That seemed to be the default Pike male emotion when things went south. But, the flicker of anguish he saw in his dad's eyes was hard for him to handle, and he found himself swallowing back a fresh wave of nausea as he recalled what was coming next.

Pike's tone was flat, impassive and nearly monotone, but the rage that boiled just beneath the surface was detectible by the sharp, stinging accents to the words themselves. "'There are days that I wonder why that supplier didn't finish him off all those years ago when he had the chance. Maybe it was because karma hates me, and this is its way of telling me I suck. Seriously, is it so much to ask that my parents give me attention other than bitching at me? If they want to bitch at someone, they should be doing it to our longtime family 'friend'. Because right now, I'm writing him in as Asshole of the Year, and I think he'd deserve it. He'd be right up there with my parents'."

Pike crumpled up the letter into a tight ball. He tossed it back and forth as he gnashed his teeth together, waiting for some of the roiling emotions to subside before he dared speak again. He took a deep breath and dropped the paper to the floor. Chris pointed straight at the camera and said, "Now, I'd like to address a few of these. Ethan, the only bit of common sense you had through this entire thing was to not name this person specifically. Not only could you have ruined his career, the man you have just nominated for 'Asshole of the Year' is someone you have known all of your life, and who views you as a son of his own. I want you to get that through your head before we go any further."

Chris adjusted his duty rig and shifted on the stool, shaking out his left leg to return some circulation to it. He folded his hands and laid them in his lap as his eyes darted around the room. Finally bringing his attention back to het camera, he said, "You need to understand the world does not revolve around you, mister. It doesn't revolve around the – what did you call him – the Georgia Wonder, either. This is how friendship works, son. It's about being unselfish and helping people when they need it. You remember the saying your mom always uses? Well, let me help you: 'It takes a village to raise a kid,' and in some cases, it takes a village to save a friend. That's what we were trying to do, just in case you were too caught up in your own teenage bullshit to figure it out."

The lieutenant's voice dipped down to a near hiss. It sounded like a warning shot put across a bow, and Ethan got the message loudly and clearly. "We never lied to you," Chris began. "I told you the other day – you don't need to know every sordid detail about what your mom and I are dealing with right now because they're not your business. They will never be your business, so you can stop with the entitlement right now. And to help you figure that out, we're going to do a little lesson in physics."

Lesson in physics? What? Ethan wasn't sure he liked where this was heading. Chris Pike was one of the most creative disciplinarians on the face of the planet, and the teen really, really hated being on the receiving end. It almost always sucked.

"The other day, you begged and pleaded with me to fix your laptop so you could do your homework on it. I didn't want to because you were acting like a spoiled child, but I thought if I could get it done, you'd get to work. So I asked Jim, who came and gave up his free time to help you. And this is how you repay us. I don't like it, son. It's selfish and incredibly arrogant, and it's going to stop right now."

Ethan watched as his dad turned ninety degrees on the stool. The camera shifted with him, bringing into frame a large shelf affixed to the wall. From waist level up, large clear panes of thick glass rose from the half-wall. Squinting to read the warning sticker stuck to the glass, Ethan's eyes went wide when he realized where his father was sitting.

"Do you recognize this room? You should – you've been here before. It's the ICPD shooting range, in the basement of our building," Chris said as he pulled the reader glasses from his face, tossing them carelessly on the shelf. "I invited a friend of yours, who I hope you don't hate, mind you, to help me with this. Say hi, Jim," Pike instructed as the camera panned at lightning speed from the lieutenant to the man operating it.

The lens took a second or two to focus, but eventually an apologetic Jim Kirk wafted into view. He waved once, and although he looked comparatively less steamed than Ethan's father, the teen could read the clear disappointment in the blonde man's eyes. He shrugged and said simply, "Sorry buddy. You kind of deserve this," before he set the camera down on the loading shelf and walked into frame.

'Deserve what?' Ethan thought, scratching his head in confusion. But as he watched his father and Kirk don the requisite hearing and eye protection, a sinking feeling started to form in the pit of his stomach. Jim plucked the camera from the shelf, steadied it, and pointed it down range. Ethan nearly gasped when he saw his laptop, his precious, everything-is-on-it-and-nothing-was-backed-up laptop, propped up on some metal anti-frag stands the department used for 'Tactical Tuesdays'.

They weren't going to-Dammit, they were. Ethan's head fell to his chest when Kirk moved behind Pike. The lieutenant walked up to the range booth, and said over his right shoulder, "Ethan, it's a shame your mother never really expressed any interest in learning to shoot, because she might have enjoyed this moment."

That was it. That was all the warning Ethan received before his father reached towards the holster situated on the left side of his body, unclipped the active retention, lifted his Heckler and Koch USP and pointed the business end of the .40 Smith and Wesson semi-automatic handgun at the unsuspecting computer. Years of training and hundreds of thousands of fired target rounds all melted into one smooth trigger squeeze as Pike sent the first round down range. The muzzle of his gun flashed a millisecond before the Hornady Critical Defense ammunition hit the inanimate computer and fragmented, blowing several pieces of plastic out the back.

Pike continued, squeezing the trigger again and again as he fired every single bullet of the magazine's thirteen round capacity at his son's computer. Shell casings spit out the side of Chris' firearm, clattering against the green plastic that divided each shooting lane. They bounced unnoticed off Pike's shoulders and dropped harmlessly to the ground, the sensitive audio on the camera picking up the 'tink, tink, tink' as they fell.

The slide of the lieutenant's gun locked back, signifying the lack of more deadly projectiles. Ethan let out a breath he was holding on his computer's behalf, resigning it to the graveyard of demolished technology. But he father wasn't done; Chris' left thumb swiped easily at the magazine release mounted at the back of the trigger guard of the .40. The black spring-loaded holder dropped from the handle of the pistol and fell straight to the floor. It landed among the spent brass casings, forgotten as Pike reached around his duty rig, grabbed another mag and slammed it home, all in one fluid motion. His thumb hit the slide release, chambering the first round and setting the USP to single action. He pulled the trigger thirteen more times for thirteen more hits, completely ensuring total destruction.

Even though he wasn't standing on the range next to his father, Ethan could almost hear the ringing ricochet in his ears and feel the concussive force of small arms fire as it bounced off the cement walls and slightly low ceiling. He could smell the sulfur in the air, he could feel the slide oil on his hands, and he could taste the grittiness of gunpowder blowback in his mouth. On camera, Chris turned his entire body to face the camera, removed his hearing and eye protection and said, "Now, do we have any more questions? No? Good. Have a good night, son, and hopefully you understand why I did this when I finally un-ground you long enough to watch it."

Ethan groaned and laid his head on the table. He was so dead when he got home.

Fuck.

Next Up: Ethan and McCoy come face to face.