Cal was on duty. And Owen had baseball practice. So Cal took Lewis, who wasn't quite old enough to stay home by himself, though he probably could be trusted, and headed down to the park about fifteen minutes early to catch the end of the session. They were playing a mock game and Owen was dancing around on his base not paying too much attention. The little blighter could probably afford to muck around if he was their star player. But still. "Oi Owen," Cal called. Owen smiled and waved. "Pay attention!" Cal added gesturing to the game. Owen spun around three hundred and sixty degrees on his toe. That wasn't really paying attention.

Cal sat with Lewis in the stands. Cal asked about Lewis's day. Lewis was a teenager now and things had changed with him. Obviously, he was physically changing, but Cal noticed he was quieter, slightly more withdrawn and it took more to bring him out of it again. It worried Cal, because he wasn't used to it, not from his doting Lewis. But also, the behaviour, it reminded him of his mother when she was in the middle of a depressive episode. Or was about to fall. When Cal talked to Gillian about it she admitted she had thought about it, that if either of their two boys was more likely it would seem to be Lewis. What they figured was to keep an eye on him, to give him the extra attention he so clearly needed. Lewis was self-sufficient in so many ways, but he was also like his father, he needed the quality contact, not just a lot of it. Not like Owen.

When practice was over Cal helped Owen carry his gear back to the car. They put it in the trunk and piled in. Cal pulled away from the curb, checking over his shoulder before merging from the parking lot to the street. He suddenly caught a whiff of something familiar. Something not entirely unpleasant, but with negative connotations, and it took him a second to place it. It was a smell he had not been around for a long time. He leaned forward and turned the music off. "All right who smells like smokes?"

Deathly silence followed and Cal didn't see it, but Lewis and Owen exchanged a look behind his back. It was a rhetorical question really. Cal had been hanging out with Lewis for most of the afternoon, he wasn't likely to only suddenly notice the smell of cigarettes now. So he was really asking Owen, but he wondered if Owen would own up, or try to deny it. Cal readjusted the rear-view mirror to catch a guilty expression on his youngest's face, just a glimpse, which was really all Cal ever needed, before he had to focus on the road again.

"Anyone back there?" He prompted. He wondered if Lewis would rat out his brother. He wondered if Owen would speak up. He wondered if either of them were going to even say anything at all. Finally, Cal pulled the car over and killed the engine and twisted around in his seat. What he saw, before hands fell quickly to laps, was Owen and Lewis furiously signing to each other. Oh how handy it was that they knew ASL.

"Right, listen up," Cal started in his stern father tone of voice. "Smokin' cigarettes is stupid and dangerous and I forbid it. Both of you," he pointed to each of them to be sure. "Are forbidden to try cigarettes or touch cigarettes and if your friends are lightin' up in front of you cos they think they're cool, then you're to walk away immediately. Do you hear me?" He glared at Owen first, who shrunk under his gaze but nodded feebly, then Lewis, who gave a nod, though the expression on his face was surly. Oh now that was interesting. Lewis too? At one point? Still. His friends? Cal would grill them on that when he got home. He turned back in his seat, started the car and headed home again.

Once they were back at the house, Cal practically frog marched both of them inside and made them stand in front of the breakfast bar. Cal was only mildly aware he was over doing it, but what better way to teach his kids a lesson he really meant by scaring the shit out of them? At least it was going to be memorable. Much better than the handholding Gillian tended to encourage. Sometimes the best way to get through to someone was with shock tactics. There was respecting their kids to make their own decisions and then there was sucking on toxic fumes.

"Owen," Cal started. The boy startled a little and straightened up as if he were on inspection in a military parade. "Did you smoke a cigarette today?" Owen shook his head while looking his father in the eye. His cheeks had gone a little red but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Gillian tended to blush when she was caught off guard about something too. "Then why do you smell like cigarette smoke?"

"My friend," Owen said.

Cal thought about asking which one, so he could go down there, confiscate the pack and smack the kid in the back of the head with them. They were barely nine for crying out loud. How did they even get their hands on them? "And did you try it?"

Owen shook his head vigorously.

"Good," Cal responded sharply. Lewis looked over at his brother. "And next time when your friend smokes? What are you gonna do?" Cal pressed on.

Silence.

"What are you gonna do?" Cal repeated a little louder, his hands more insistent as he signed.

"Walk away," Owen mumbled. Cal made him say it again, louder, so that everyone heard him nice and clear.

"Do you know why I say this to you?" Cal asked next.

"Cos cigarettes are bad," Owen answered.

"Yeah they're bad. They're toxic Owen. They'll kill you. Even if someone else smokes them and you breathe in the smoke, it can kill you." Owen looked up at him alarmed. Cal met his son's blue eyes evenly. He could feel Lewis's on him too. "I mean it. Every cigarette is full of nasty toxic stuff and they can make you really ill."

"You used to smoke," Lewis spoke up.
"Yeah I did," Cal quickly agreed. 'Thanks Lewis for underminin' me.' "When I was younga I smoked. When I was Lewis's age," Cal looked to Owen again to make sure he was paying attention to this. "And you know what happened?" He micro paused for any quick answers the boys felt like throwing out. Which they didn't. "I got sick. I got throat cance-a."

Lewis's eyes went wider and Cal thought smugly that even though the boy had somehow found out his Dad used to smoke, he hadn't heard about the cancer. Yet. "You're going to die!" Owen asked shocked, his mouth dropping open.

"I was lucky," Cal went on. "I was very lucky and they cut it out and I got betta."

"When?" Lewis.

"Before Owen was born. You were maybe two or three."

Little fuzzy on the timeline there. But he had the scars to prove it and he showed the boys the tiny white lines on the edge of his jaw bone under his chin.

"My job is to look afta you right?" Cal went back to his lecture. Owen nodded. Lewis didn't respond. Teenagers. Insert eye roll here. "To keep you safe. I wouldn't let you run through a nuclear bomb blast naked and I wouldn't let you cross the road with your eyes closed, and I won't let you smoke cigarettes or even be around them if you can help it."

"How come there are even cigarettes?" Lewis asked.

And it was a good freaking question, because they were now under regulation again, available on prescription from medical professionals for those who were so seriously addicted that to quit would cause serious distress. Which posed another interesting question: how in the hell had Owen's friend got a hold of one?

"That's a very long story Lew," Cal almost sighed. Lewis gave a little gesture that said 'go on'. "Because a very, very long time ago, Europeans discova-ed the tobacco plant and learnt how to dry the leaves and smoke them and they found it made them nice and relaxed and otha fun stuff but what they didn't realise was that what they put the leaves with to make the easi-a to smoke was toxic. And then many years afta that when people were addicted and the tobacco companies had made so much money they could swim in it like Scrooge McDuck, scientists started to find out that they were nasty and actually could kill people. But by then it was too late because people were addicted and the tobacco companies had a lot of money so they could pay politicians money to keep cigarettes legal."

"How come you smoked Dad?" Owen piped up, clearly bored with that story.

"Cos my Dad smoked and my Mum smoked and my brutha was pinchin' their cigarettes when I was small, and all my friends were doin' it and I kind of liked it for a while."

"When did you stop?" Lewis again.

"When I found out I was gonna be a Dad the first time. I didn't want my daughta to be around that. Just like I don't want you two to be around it eitha." Cal paused and it seemed they didn't have more questions. At least just now. "I say this to you because I love you," he tried. "All right?"

Owen nodded and Lewis too.

"All right," Cal finished. "Now. Owen. Go and have a showa and put your uniform into the wash. Cos you stink." Owen hung his head a little and wandered off. Cal turned to Lewis. "And what are you gonna do until tea time?" He softened his tone.

Lewis gave a shrug. "Go to my room."

"All right," Cal acknowledged and watched Lewis walk away. He fought the urge to bear hug him from behind and ask him what was bothering him so much, if something was bothering him; where had his little munchkin gone? He could only be there for the kid, not force him to talk. But god it was hard to not shake it out of him. It wasn't so bad though if he stood there through that lecture and actually listened though...

Cal took his phone out of his pocket and text his wife: SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF YOUR SONS BOUT SMOKIN & CANCER

Gillian responded pretty quickly to that message: THAT WARRANTS SERIOUS EXPLANATION WHEN I GET HOME