This goes back to chapter 24, called Strike Three, where Liam not only goes rogue, but shows a total lack of respect for his father. Jay responded to his son in a way he never thought he would or could. In the original chapter, I skirted around the moment of the punishment, only referring to it later. Here is the moment that it happened and its immediate aftermath.

Crime and Punishment

I stepped out into the living room and clamped my hand over my mouth so Liam wouldn't hear my sob. I had just done what I swore I never would. Now I was fighting tears and trying to keep the anger at myself at bay.

It had been a hell of a day. Liam at the tender age of ten decided that he was capable of going undercover to score drugs. He had been successful and was completely miffed at the reaction of the adults around him. I had tried and failed to keep my cool. The behavior had been so risky and over the top that angry dad had come out. But I was outdone by angry Sarge. But just when I thought we had both made Liam understand the flaws in his actions he decided to play the rap song Fuck the Police and that had pushed me well over the top. I had already taken quite a few of his favorite items from his room that I would keep for the duration of his grounding but had overlooked his phone and small speaker. He had taken advantage of that oversight by blasting the song. I had no idea where he had even heard it, but heard it he had, and my rage went from hovering towards being in control to out of control in a matter of seconds.

I walked with a purpose back to his room, ripping the door open to find him standing there with a look of contempt on his face. I grabbed his phone and the speaker which was sitting on his desk and turned them both off and marched back to my room where I set them on my dresser. I then went back to see Liam still standing where he had been, the smug look still resting on his face, and I snapped. Truthfully, I had snapped and committed to my decision the first moment I had heard the words filter through his door. Now, without hesitation I grabbed his arm, tugged him the few steps to his bed where I sat down and slung him across my lap so that his front half was on his bed and his middle was exactly where I needed it to be.

It was over before I had even comprehended that it had begun. My mind was swirling with what was happening, how it was happening and how long I should allow it to happen. I couldn't remember what count my father would use, I know it went down once he began to use his belt. But when I was younger did he have a plan, one smack for each year, or was that just for time-outs. Did it relate to the misbehavior? By the time my thoughts had stopped rapid firing, it was over. I had just stopped. Liam was trying to pull away from me but kept his face buried in his hands. I helped ease him onto the bed and stood up.

"We'll talk later, but right now you are to stay in your room until I tell you that you can come out." I say as sternly as I can manage. He is crying and my heart is breaking. I hang on until I can get out the door and muffle my own sobs.

I try and tell myself I had no other choice. That the kid had broken so many rules and added total disrespect on top of it all. I could not, would not, accept that. Liam knew I would react to his efforts to anger me. He knew how important respect was to me. And he just threw it all in my face. I had to take it a step further. I had to make a big point. He had to know his attitude was not okay. I had to do whatever it took to ensure he understood. Or at least that's what I kept telling myself.

I sat down on the couch and tried to pull myself together. It didn't work. My hand stung and was a light shade of red. Yes, I had handed out a smack or two in the past, but that's all it was, a brief reaction to unacceptable, in-the-moment behavior. We had both brushed it off and moved forward without a glance. But this was different. His choices, his behavior had been so calculated, and my response followed the same path, although I had no designs on corporal punishment until Liam managed to push my last button. I had been in control; I think. If I didn't react the way I had, what would he have tried next? Anything? Nothing? Does he hate me? Because I hate me.

I set up at the kitchen table, staring at the laptop, occasionally tapping a key or two, reading a word, managing a sentence once in a while. But my mind was still whirring. I couldn't do anything about had happened, it was over now. I recalled how much I would hate my father after he punished me. But I would get over it. I tried to remember how long I would stay angry, how long he stayed angry. I do have a memory where the words "I love you pal" floated in the air after one such session. "I do this because I love you pal." Had I told Liam I loved him?

As I wallowed in my head I heard a small voice grab my attention. "Dad, I have to go to the bathroom." I look up to see Liam standing just outside his bedroom door.

"Go ahead," I tell him. He scurries to the bathroom and closes the door. I hear the toilet flush and see him exit. "Did you wash your hands?" I ask. He shakes his head and backs through the door, and I hear the water blast from the faucet.

I lose myself again almost immediately until his small voice interrupts me. "I'm hungry," he tells me quietly as if he is testing the waters. I look at my watch and realize how late it has gotten. Apparently second-guessing and getting lost in thought is quite time consuming.

"I'll start dinner," I say and pause. I look at him and he looks so small and fragile.

"I'll help," he offers, and I don't know what to do. I remember how I would be so angry at my dad after receiving the very same punishment that I had just handed out. I can't recall if I was allowed out of my room or I had just had no desire to stray from my personal shell of safety. Liam is handing me an olive branch, but I simply can't take it.

"I want you back in your room. I'll let you know when dinner is ready." I tell him. My voice is soft, gentle, but firm. I have no idea why I chose to send him away, but I did. He stays quiet and turns away shuffling back to his room as I stand there wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Fuck the police, that is what is wrong with me. My ten-year-old son decided to weaponize his anger with a song and that is why I sent him away. Not an unforgivable act, but one that deserves a serious reaction and therefore there is nothing wrong with my recent choices. Or at least that is what I am convince myself.

We have a quiet dinner of macaroni and cheese, with a side of steak for me. Liam picks at his dinner and quickly asks if he can be done, despite his earlier statement of being hungry. I tell him no. That he needs to eat more, then take a bath and go to bed. He looks like I have sucked all the air out him and refuses to look up from his plate until he eats a few more bites and I give him permission to leave the table.

I allow him ten minutes to read after his bath, which is more of a tease than anything. The lights go out over a half hour early, which to a kid is a tortuous amount of time. I won't withhold my love from him, but my words are tight, my kiss is brief as I pull the covers up and turn the light out.

Liam and I had a flow, a language all our own and it has been blown out of the water. I don't know how to recover, Liam doesn't know what to do. I am lost. I call Will and share our evening and he told me to calm down and that I was making a big deal out of nothing. He always seemed to deal with our father better than I ever could. I often saw him as an imposing figure that was waiting around to find me doing something wrong. But Will would remind me of the good times we had shared and that I often pushed to the back of my mind and maybe that is what is driving my fears; that Liam will hold on to tonight's event and forget all the good things we have enjoyed. My fear is that I have failed, but if I hadn't reacted would that have become a different kind of failure.

I hang up and check on Liam who is sleeping on his side facing the wall and away from me. A part of me wants to wake him up and hold him, but I just can't. When will things go back to normal? When can I allow them to? What is Liam thinking and if I ask him does that show a weakness that I cannot afford?

I purposely work late the next day for several reasons. The first is that I have work to catch up on after leaving early the day before with Liam. The second is that I feel I owe Voight my time and effort to make up for leaving early the day before. Third is that despite the fact that Liam did help with the case, I failed as a father and every member of the team by having the unit's world rocked by my ten-year-old son. And the fourth and biggest reason is the fact that I'm too scared to go home. I don't know what to say to Liam, how to act around him or what our evening will entail. He is grounded, so entertainment is limited, but it is those times that we talk the most and we don't seem to be in the mood to talk. Or I'm too afraid to. I'm afraid I have driven an unforgivable wedge into our relationship. I have no idea what the right thing do to was. Should I have ignored his proclamation that the police suck and screw them? Was my punishment the right move? Or something else? But what else? I had no more tricks up my sleeve. If he hates me, I have nobody else to blame. But if I let it slide and he began to push his limits more and more, would I be back where I was wishing I had done what I did? Why the hell can't I let this go? What's done is done and now I have to own it. I know my son and I know what I did was for the best.

I fall asleep telling myself I was right. I wake up in the morning with the very same questions in my head whose conclusion is nothing but uncertainty. I can hear dishes rattle in the kitchen and get up to see Liam dumping cereal in a bowl, a few pieces scattering across the counter and falling to the floor. He looks down at the food and seems to debate picking them up or just ignoring them. It's then he looks over to see me standing there and my worst fears seem to come true.

"Sorry. Sorry Daddy, I'll pick them up," he stutters trying to get the words out faster than his tongue will allow. My son is afraid of me.

"Okay." I say quietly as he drops to his knees and picks up the stray oats and throws them in the trash. Once he is done he just stands there as if he has forgotten what he was doing or is scared to finish his task. "Go sit at the table," I direct him as I get the milk and pour it over his cereal.

He is sitting with his head down as I set his breakfast in front of him. I realize there is no spoon so I grab one from the dish drainer and set it on the table. Clearly we need to talk. "Eat," I encourage him but he seems to have lost his appetite. This punishment has escaped the confines of his room, the slipped past the borders of our relationship and I have to cram it back into something that we can both accept and understand.

I give a nod encouragement and he picks up his spoon and eats several bites, but it seems to be a chore for him, so I clear my throat and start to speak, though I am uncertain of the words that will come out of my mouth.

"Liam, what happened the other day—well I know it was unusual." I begin, as he looks down at this bowl and whispers that he's sorry. How am I supposed to answer that? "I'm glad that you have remorse, that you are sorry for what you did—all of what you did. I didn't want to punish you that way, but I didn't know what else to do. I needed you to understand that you being on the street alone buying drugs was wrong and I thought I had gotten through to you. But then you played that song and it made me believe that you weren't taking me seriously."

"Sorry Dad," he says to the table.

"Look at me," I instruct him and with great difficulty he raises his head and looks my direction. I sigh, now that I have his attention, I have fallen mute. I decide to turn the tables. Unfair at the very least, but something my father was a master at. "Do you understand why I was so upset the other night?"

Now he is rendered mute. "Liam, I asked you a question." I nudge. He shrugs, looking back down at the table. "Look up and tell me why you think I was upset?"

He begins but is talking to the table again. "Because I played a song that would make you mad."

"Why did it make me mad?"

"Cause it had bad words."

"Anything else?"

"It had bad words at the police."

"Were you using those words at me?"

He looks up, his face reflecting shock. "No. Not you."

"But I'm the police," I point out. His face reflects on this realization.

"Oh. But I didn't mean—" but his voice fades away.

"I was very upset with all of your choices that day. And the fact that you continued to make bad choices made me think that you didn't understand how upset I was and how poor your decisions had been."

"Okay," he mumbles looking past my shoulder.

"Do you understand that?" He nods his head up and down. "I need to know that you understand that your choices and actions have consequences, it's my job to make sure of that."

"I was mad, because I was supposed to be a hero, but you were mad at me instead of being excited."

"You wanted me to be excited because you helped us with the case?"

"Yes," he proclaims, drawing out the word as if he is grateful that I finally seem to understand.

"Did you have permission to be in the neighborhood?" I ask and wait for answer.

"No."

"Did you have my permission to purchase drugs? Or approach a drug dealer?" Again I wait.

"No."

"Did you cover up your actions by using my phone in a deceitful way?" He looks at me confused. "Did you lie to Kendal about not needing her to watch you and then delete the conversation all while posing as me?" He finds interest in the table again and the silence is drawn out. "Liam, answer me."

"I guess," he finally admits.

"Then you knew that everything you did was wrong."

"I should have been allowed because I got the job done. Okay, I get it you were mad and maybe you should have been, but I still got the job done."

I had to force my head to stay up and not crash into my hands. He just couldn't grasp the danger he had placed himself in. It was clear that I would have to reach out to someone else to help him understand. I changed gears, because I had no other choice. "I'm going to ask you a question and I want an honest answer okay? You won't get into any trouble no matter what your answer is okay?" He nods and shoves his cereal bowl away from him, even though he has barely eaten any.

I've decided I'm not going to apologize for what I did or ask to be forgiven even though part of me desperately wants to. I have to stay strong, otherwise I may undermine what I did and all this agony would be for nothing, but I need to know. "Are you afraid of me now?" I ask, the words tumbling out.

I try to think back to my youth and whether or not I had a healthy fear of my father, an unhealthy fear or no fear at all. I can no longer recall. It's just a tangled mess of unhappy memories for the most part.

Liam is sitting across from me, and I realize that he is just looking at me. His brow is a bit furrowed as if he is either thinking or confused. He remains quiet for what seems an eternity. Finally, he speaks. "No. Never. I swear." Then, "Do you want me to be?"

"No of course not. I would never want that."

"Good, cause I'm not. I mean, I didn't like what happened, but I was in trouble, so I get it. You wouldn't do anything like that unless I was in big trouble, and I was in big trouble. So, I mean, I get it."

"You do?" I ask.

"I'm not afraid and I don't hate you, but I still don't think I should have been in big trouble. But you keep telling me that I am, so I guess I am. And because I was I got a big punishment. It's not like you do that for no reason or even yell at me for no reason. So, no, I'm not afraid that you will do that again unless I do something really bad."

I am beyond relieved and even though he continues to refuse that his actions were reprehensible, he at least seems to understand that he deserved his punishment on some level and that there was a legitimate reason behind my actions. "Okay, I'm glad to hear that. It just seemed that you were a little nervous when you dropped your cereal and saw me standing there."

He shrugs and waits a minute before speaking. "I guess I kind of was, but not really. I mean, I haven't seen you so I didn't know what kind of mood you were in. But I didn't think you do anything to me. I think I just didn't want you to be any more mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you. I was. And I am still disappointed in your lies and actions, but I'm not mad anymore. Son, if anything happened to you—"

"You'd be sad. Like you're sad because Mom is gone."

It takes me a moment to comprehend what he has just said, but decided not to fight it. "Yes. I'd be very sad if you were gone. More sad than even with your mom. You are my best buddy, my most favorite little boy in the whole world and what would I do without you?"

"Be sad," he replies.

"Exactly. So don't do things that make me sad or mad."

"Okay," he sighs. "I'll try not to." He says as he stands up and walks towards his room. But I don't let him get that far before I grab him and pull him into my lap and hold him.

"I love you kid."

"I know," he says with a lighter voice, almost a giggle. "Can I go get dressed?"

"Not yet," I tell him.

"How come?" He asks.

"Because I haven't tickled you yet!" I tell him as my fingers run amok around his rib cage, causing him to laugh and squirm. "Go get dressed," I tell him finally stopping as I let him off my lap.

He jumps up and scampers towards his room. Just before reaching his door he stops and turns back to me. He has a contemplative look on his face and then runs back to me and wraps his arms around my neck and says, "I love you Daddy."

A/N I am working on requests, I got some very good ones! They will be mixed in with random chapters that I had been working on already.