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Johnny considered himself lucky that all Miquel and Robby had done was glare and hiss at each other like feral cats.  

Miguel had remained silent on the subject of his father's not so winning personality but had smiled triumphantly when Robby chose the back seat of the Audi as opposed to riding shot gun next to Johnny. In the rear-view mirror, Johnny saw Robby shove things in his ears, lean his head back and close his eyes, shoulders relaxing against the leather seat.

It took Miguel almost an hour to speak, checking the back seat before opening his mouth. "Did you beat the crap outta Robby to get him to come to Mexico with you?"

"What the fuck, Diaz?" Johnny answered his voice tight with anger. "Really? No,” he mimicked, “I did not beat my own son to get him to come with me to Mexico.” Johnny cleared his throat. “New rules. I’m not the go between.”

Miguel held his hands up in surrender. "Wow, guess I missed a thing or two when I was in Mexico."

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Problem? Without Johnny as a buffer to field questions or attitudes, it became open warfare between the two the second Johnny pulled into a McDonalds.

Robby was still physically hurting and short tempered, and Miguel was mentally hurting and short tempered. Not a great combination.

Miguel had waited, holding open the door, but when he realized Johnny was pacing Robby, he made a loud noise of disgust and stomped inside.

Johnny sighed.

Robby looked at him. “You didn’t really want me to say, ‘I told you so’, did you?”

“No, not really.” Johnny stopped and dug into his pocket, pulling out four fuzz covered Advil.

Robby scooped them up and shoved them in his own pocket. “Thanks. Hey, Dad. Let me do some of the driving.”

Johnny snorted as he pulled open the heavy glass door. “I’d like to be home before next week.”

Robby groaned. “Really? Does probation until I’m eighteen ring a bell? Driving a car leased by someone who’s unreachable? I hate that sometimes I’m the adult.”  

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense.” He slung his arm around Robby’s shoulder. “You get your brains from me, you know.”

Robby was laughing until the two of them walked through the door.

Miguel was standing arms folded by the counter foot tapping like a pissed off parent.

Robby slithered from Johnny’s arm. “You know what I want,” he growled before heading towards the bathroom.

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He peed, then while washing his hands studied his face under the blinding bathroom light, with wet hands he tentatively touched the bruising under his eye, swollen but not tender. The right side had taken on the coloring of an overripe banana.  Carding his fingers through his hair, he pushed back his overly long bangs before going out to face the firing squad.

Miguel and his father sat side by side, his dad closest to the window. Robby slid into the booth until he was directly opposite his dad.

"Where's your toy?" Miquel questioned, pointing at Robby's food with a fry.

Robby's gaze moved from his father, whose attention was suddenly drawn to a group of women walking in the parking lot to Miguel, whose smirk was just begging to be wiped from his face. In deference to the number of children under ten sitting in their immediate area, Robby kept his voice low and his language G rated. "What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, that's a kid's meal, isn't it?" Miguel snorted. "Chicken nuggets--" Miguel scratched his chin, "because if memory serves me right, the meals come with a toy. Just curious what—”

Out of the corner of his eye, Robby observed his father tense, his grip on his burger tightened, crushing the bun, squeezing the special sauce out the side. His dad was waiting for Robby to lose his temper.

Robby was waiting for his father to tell Diaz to shut up.

Diaz was waiting for Robby to throw the first punch

And Robby? Proudly, he took the high road and said absolutely nothing, eating as if he were alone an the table ignoring both assholes. He finished his fries, was halfway through his nuggets when his cell rang. “Hey,” he said, failing to keep the smile off his face. “Hold on a minute.” He waved the phone at his dad. “I’ll be outside.” Robby grabbed his soda and left.

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Leaning again the hood of the Audi, he had a bird's eye view of their table, watching his dad and Miguel start to talk. The more things change, his mom used to say, the more they remained the same. Robby sighed, lifting the phone to his ear.

//”That bad?//

“In relation to?” Whatever Diaz had said, his dad was laughing.

//”Hell?//

“I’m not sure. Trapped in a car with my dad and Diaz, and an eighties soundtrack is as close to hell on Earth as one can get.” He put the soda on the roof of the car, tucked the phone against his ear and reached into his pocket and drew out the four Advil, he took them, washing the gel caps down with a mouthful of soda. “How’s Brandon?”

Tory’s laughter was mirthless, //”remind me to beat the shit out of you when I see you.”//

“Problem?” he asked ignoring her threat.

//”Problem? No problem. Just don’t go making promises you’re not going to keep—“//

“I would never do that. Ever. When I get home, I will take him to the skate park. Look, I gotta go.”

//”I’m sorry,”// Tory said, her voice low and sad. //”I know you’d—I miss you.’’//

“Nichols, are you getting all sentimental on me?”

//”Maybe,”// was her hesitant reply, //”but if you repeat that to anyone I’m going to wipe the floor with you when I see you.”//

“Promise?”

//”Goodbye, Keene,”// her laughter made him smile. //”try not to kill anyone before you get home.”// then she disconnected the call.

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Johnny kept the smile pasted on his face as Miguel vomited up words, barely coming up for air. As if all his words had been bottled up from the time he’d been with his father. Johnny? He laughed at the appropriate places, shook his head, agreeing without speaking, all the while surreptitiously looking out the window at his son.

“Robby living with you now?”

“Maybe,” was Johnny’s noncommittal reply.

Miguel’s face fell. “I thought he was living with his mother?” he asked bitterly.

Johnny shook his head instead. “You and me, we’re not discussing Robby.”

“Why?”

“Because if you want to know about Robby, you ask Robby.”

“That’s never going to happen.”

Miguel was annoyed. Angry. Pissed at finding his expectations crushed. Johnny wasn’t stupid, as he followed Diaz’ line of sight. Right through the window. Centered on Robby. And his idiotic kid, realizing he was the focus of Miguel’s attention, waggled his fingers.

There was no way this was going to end well.

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Smiling, Robby slid into the booth and then surprised the shit out of Johnny and maybe Miguel with his question. “Would you like to call your mom?” he asked, placing his cell on the table. “I didn’t see your cell and I thought—"

Miguel blinked at the offer and hesitated, before placing his hand on the phone and pulling it towards him. “Thanks,” he stuttered.

“It’s unlocked. Go for it.” Robby spoke to his food rather than make eye contact with Miguel.

“I’ll be right back,” Miguel said, practically running from the table, towards the door.

“Really?” Johnny said, throwing down the French fry destined for his mouth. “That was a nice gesture.”

“I can do nice,” Robby blinked at him, apparently affronted.

"I didn't mean it like that--" Johnny exhaled, trying to keep whatever accusatory tone from his voice Robby had latched onto. "It was a friendly thing to do."

"Not friends, Dad. You heard Miguel. You know how I feel."

"You're right. How about neighborly gesture." Johnny's voice faded, his gaze locked on Robby, who was sitting, eyes closed breathing deeply, some LaRusso shit. "You okay?"

One cleansing breath later and Robby opened his eyes. "Yeah," he answered, but the word was hesitant and non-convincing.

"You're full of shit."

"Nothing to be done about anything now," Robby answered with resigned smugness.

"So, you're admitting to me--"

"No, not admitting anything," Robby started to clean up the table, compiling the trash onto the empty tray.

"But you're still rough around the edges and relying on painkillers--"

"Advil," Robby interjected through gritted teeth. "Dad, please, just let it go."

Johnny sighed because sadly, like father like son, at this point, especially in Miguel's presence, Robby was going to admit nothing. Johnny rescued the dredges of Miguel's fries and unfinished soda from the tray.

Johnny walked out, leaving Robby back on line to get a bottle of water. "Hey, Miguel," was all he managed, holding the fries and drink in his outstretched hands.

The expression on Miguel's face was thunderous, his hand with the cell drawn back. A pitcher’s stance.

"Don't be a dick," Johnny shouted, reaching his side in two strides, shoving the food at his chest, plucking the phone from his fingers. He glanced over his shoulder, thankfully Robby was still inside.

Miguel fumbled but latched onto the fries and drink without spilling, his expression not changing. "What the fuck, Sensei?"

"The phone," Johnny hissed conspiratorially, "you were going to send the cell, Robby's cell, to an untimely death."

"So?"

"So?" Really, Diaz? Pussy move."

Miguel stomped away and tossed what Johnny had saved into the trash, shoving it down.

"What's his problem?" Robby asked, twisting the top off the water.

Johnny remained silent, then shrugged. "If you want to know what's going on with Diaz, you're going to have to ask him."

"Or maybe just let him have his temper tantrum in peace." He took the cell from Johnny's fingers, scowled then scrolled through--"shit.".

"Robby?" Johnny asked, but his son had no time to answer.

"Can we get going?" Miguel growled, opening the passenger door.

"Keys?" Robby put out his hand.

“Not sure if this is such a great idea—”

“Look,” Robby hissed, turning his back to the car, blocking Miguel’s view, “I don’t want to stay in a hotel room. We’ll split the driving between the two of us—”

“In a car. In a hotel room. What’s the difference?” Johnny was truly confused.

“Gimme the keys, Dad.”

Reluctantly, Johnny dropped the keys into his son's outstretched hands and then waited on the sidewalk as Robby entered the car. Yup, that's what he thought, two seconds later, Miguel exited the passenger side, opened the back door and flung himself inside.

The decision was Johnny's. He sighed, stepped off the sidewalk into the parking lot. Closed the back door and slid into the passenger seat, shutting the door in his wake.

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Silver's Ferrari had made Robby feel as if he was attempting to tame a wild animal. Exhilarating and powerful.  His mother's car had made him feel like a little kid driving his grandma's car, safe and boring, but driving the Audi, made him feel in control. Secure in his abilities. Like karate. His father noticed the pull of the smile he was futilely attempting to tamp down.

"She's a beaut to drive, isn't she?" His dad's hands lovingly skimmed the dashboard. "Ever say that to LaRusso and I'll deny those words to my dying day."

Robby nodded and pressed a button on the steering wheel, the car filling with music.

"How the fuck did you do that?"

"Controls are in the steering wheel," Robby said, his thumb skimming a button and changing the station.

"No shit!"

"Don't even think about it, Mr. LaRusso would notice if we didn't return this car. She's not a Dodge Caravan."

"Hey, that's all on you."

"I know," Robby answered softly. "All on me," he repeated. “Next time I’ll take an Audi.”

“There better never be a next time,” his father growled.

Robby could feel Miguel's eyes boring a hole in the back of his head.

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Johnny relaxed against the leather of the comfortable seat, impressed that his son wasn't a horrible driver, sad that he hadn't been the one to afford him that skill.

"So, Diaz," Robby began.

Shitshitshitshitshit. Admittedly, there was no animosity in Robby's tone, just the fact he was talking to Miguel was enough to send Johnny into a panic.

"Yeah?" You could slice the trepidation in Miguel's voice with a knife, not even a sharp knife, a plastic butter knife would've been enough.

"I know," Robby kept his eyes on the road head. "You're dying to ask me a question or two, so I'm going to be like the genie in the bottle and grant you three questions."

"The genie gave three wishes," Miguel corrected.

"You're right, but since I'm incapable of granting wishes, I'll let you have three questions instead."

Silence.

Robby didn't push or prod, he just waited, concentrating on the road in front of them.

The quiet ate away at Johnny, until he couldn't take it anymore. "Maybe Miguel doesn't--"

"Who beat the crap outta you?" Miguel spat from the back seat.

"Terry Silver," Robby answered, no heat in his response. "Though I’m not too sure if it was the anger of my losing to Hawk. Answering him back or he had an issue with my leaving Cobra Kai.”

Johnny thought he was going to puke, the ultimate degradation to LaRusso’s car. “Answering him back?”

“Yeah. Silver had an issue how my match with Hawk was going, I asked him if he wanted to fight him—Sensei Kreese had to hold him back.”

"You quit?" Miguel's voice was filled with surprise, shock even. "Why?"

"Three questions, remember? Do you want that to be the second question?"

"No fucking way."

“Okay, what do you want your second—”

“Why the fuck is there a text from Sam on your phone?”

Johnny shot Robby a glance, wanting to know the answer to that question as well. Hadn’t Robby learned? Did they need a repeat of the Tory-Sam-Miguel-Robby square?

“You want the truth?” Robby teased.

“Fuck yeah, Keene.” Miguel was leaning forward, as far as his seatbelt would allow.

“Because she’s a better person than I am. She spoke to me in the skatepark the day after my dad threw me into the lockers at Cobra Kai—”

Johnny cringed, “I said I was sorry.”

Robby patted his hand as if placating a young child. “I know, Dad.”

“Two hands on the wheel,” Johnny reprimanded.

Robby rolled his eyes, put two hands on the wheel and continued. “She begged me to talk to my dad and Mr. LaRusso, to talk sense into them. Combine forces against Cobra Kai. I said—I wasn’t nice.”

“No surprise,” Miguel snarled.

Johnny watched as Robby’s fingers tightened around the wheel, gripping so hard his knuckles were turning white from the pressure.

“I deserved that, Diaz. It was true. I guess she felt badly and she wanted to talk. I never answered her. She never reached out again. That discussion is one that needs to be done face to face.”

Miguel muttered under his breath, sounding, to Johnny’s ears, something like ‘over my dead body’ but Robby said nothing, just turned on the blinker and switched lanes.

“Why did you kick me over the balcony?”

Johnny’s gaze slid to Robby. Robby had to have known Miguel was going to ask that question. Truthfully, Johnny was surprised he hadn’t led with it.

"How about that one, Keene?" Miguel leaned close enough to push on the back of the driver’s seat.

"Hands off while he's driving," Johnny warned.

Miguel slid is hands back into his lap. "Gonna answer the question?"

Johnny turned his gaze to Robby studying his son watching him struggle to gain composure. What was the kid thinking, of course that was going to be one of the top three questions. Robby swallowed; his Adam's apple visible with the effort. "I was angry."

"Angry enough to kick me right over the--"

"I know what I did," Robby answered slowly. "I hated you. I hated my dad.”

“Not an excuse.”

“Never said it was, you asked a question, I’m trying to answer.”

“I showed you mercy.”

“You know what? You should’ve broken my arm. Then maybe you would’ve been the bad guy in all of this.”

“So, you’re blaming me for showing you mercy?” Miguel’s derisive snort echoed within the car. “That’s fucked up, Keene.”

“How about this, Diaz,” Robby’s voice was deadly calm. “I paid for what I did to you. I went to juvie, thrown away like a piece of trash. There, I got my ass kicked more times than I can remember. You went to the hospital. We were the only two who paid for that fight with part of our soul.”

Miguel was silent and Johnny hoped maybe he was listening to what Robby was saying.

“But why?” Miguel’s voice had a plaintive, little boy quality.

“Honestly?” Robby drew a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Because by showing mercy you came away with it all. You were the better person. You got the girl. My father. The fight. I was tired of being left with nothing, so I fought back trying to hold onto something. Anything. In the end, I lost it all.”

“You never even said you were sorry.”

Robby’s laughter was a tad hysterical. “Sorry is just a word, Diaz. Would you have forgiven me if I had?”

“I still haven’t forgiven you.”

“That’s on you.” Robby rubbed at his eyes. “I can’t change your feelings.”

“And your feelings?”

“Hmmm, I’m thinking that’s question four, but I’m feeling magnanimous, so I’ll answer to the best of my ability. Truthfully, I’m afraid.”

“Of what?” Johnny asked.

“Really, Dad, you’re even asking that question?”

“Ummm, yeah?”

“Okay. I’m afraid that in a day. A week. A month, or hell even a year I’m going to do something that’s going to piss you off. Or that the shine of being my dad is going to dull. That LaRusso is going to truly think about what I’ve done in my fucked up life and go for the hat trick.

“I’m afraid that Kenny and Anthony will follow in mine and Miguel’s footsteps, like we’ve shadowed you and Mr. LaRusso. I’m afraid that Shawn Payne is going to join Cobra Kai and I’ll spend the next years looking over my shoulder like in juvie.” Robby’s voice became softer the longer he spoke, until he finally finished in a clear whisper. “I’m so busy, Diaz worrying about the future, I have nothing left in me, no anger, no hate to waste on the past.”  

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Miguel sat back, stunned. That was it? Keene had actually just conceded. Dismissing him? No. No. No. Way too anticlimactic. “We’re not friends.”

“Never said we were, just that I can’t focus on—”

“Enough, Robby.”

Miguel took great pleasure that Sensei had had enough of Keene’s bullshit as well.

“So, Keene, you lost to Hawk at the AVT.”

“Yup.”

“It’s just a tournament,” Sensei said, “just one—”

“Whoa, what the fuck, Sensei? Your son loses and it’s just a tournament and you tell me if I don’t go out and win, you can’t be my Sensei anymore.”

“He’s right, Dad.”

“I don’t need your fucking support, Keene.”

“Wasn’t offering it, just agreeing with you.”

 "Hey, guys, I'm right here," Sensei huffed in annoyance.

"We know," Robby agreed, "but hell, Diaz and I are bonding over what an asshole you can be at times. That's what you wanted, right? Us to get along?"

"We're not bonding over anything."

"Not even how much fathers can be fucking idiots at the best of times?" Robby prodded.

Miguel knew Keene was trying to goad him. Make him say the wrong thing. Turn him into the bad guy. "Speak for yourself." Miguel stopped short, realizing what he'd just said. "Sorry, Sensei."

Sensei sighed. "Thanks, Diaz but, I hate to admit it, Robby's correct. Our last conversation wasn’t my most shining moment."

Miguel watched with an ache in his gut when Robby turned and smiled at Sensei. "He's working on being less of an asshole."

Sensei laughed, "I think that’s the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

“Oh my god, is this some damned alternate reality? A Hallmark moment?” He made an exaggerated gagging sound. “You guys are being such—such—” Miguel almost choked on the word, “pussies.”

Robby’s burst of laughter, surprised him.

“Hey, Diaz,” Sensei’s voice was filled with indignation, “there’s no reason to insult me or insult Robby.”

“He didn’t insult me,” Robby was still chortling. “Think it’s kinda funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Miguel argued.

“I know,” Robby was trying to keep the amusement out of his voice, “which is what made it funnier.”

Miguel was gearing up for a witty comeback when Sensei yelled “quiet” forgetting they were not in a dojo sized room but in a car, and the car swerved for a second.

“Jeeze, warn a guy—”

“Sorry,” Sensei stated but Miguel could tell that he wasn’t really sorry. “But the two of you are being dicks. So just shut the hell up. Both of you.”

“Yes, Sensei,” Miguel groveled, hating himself just a smidge.

Robby just grunted.

Silence.

Then Sensei began to snore.

Miguel thought about asking Keene if he could borrow his cell again but he didn’t want to ask him for anything. He was bored.

“Are you sorry you went to Mexico?” There was a hesitation to Robby’s question.

“Why do you care?” How about are you sorry you went to Mexico to drag my ass back home?” he asked in a sing song voice.

Robby sighed. “Okay, forget I asked.”

“I will.” Miguel waved his hands, “can you put on music or something?” So this way Miguel wouldn’t be forced to listen to Sensei’s snoring or Keene’s bullshit.

A man's deep voice filled the car.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Audio book."

Miguel chuckled. "You can't read? Figures." He flopped back against the leather seat and crossed his arms.

"Fuck it," and then the man's voice was replaced by music, hard rock, head banging. "I got kicked out of school because of the fight, meant I was an idiot, not stupid, Diaz."

"Suuure," he elongated the one syllable word just to piss Keene off. "This car has a DVD player; you have any movies?"

"Wasn't high on our list to pack for the trip. Look in the console to see if Mr. LaRusso--"

"Movies and headphones," Miguel waved both in the air, making sure Keene caught his image in the rear-view mirror. "Maybe making this unbearable car ride a bit more bearable."

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His father's snores were loud and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that Diaz was sleeping, so Robby restarted the audio book. There were days when he didn’t mind people believing he was stupid, but there were times like this when Diaz called him out on his act that pissed him off.

Robby considered himself intelligent. Admittedly, he tended to make poor decisions, but that had more to do with lack of a support system and poor impulse control. Reading and music were an escape for his brain, skateboarding was bodily freedom. Karate, at this point, Robby wasn't sure how he felt about karate, because so many of his problems were tied up with what happened on the mats. In the dojos.

Robby waited until he caught Miguel's head bobbing. Once. Twice and by the time he caught it in the rear-view mirror, he waited another ten count before switching the music back to audio, listening to the book to pass the time while he played chauffeur to the two, unappreciative occupants of the car.

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Six hours later, the darkened sky was turning lighter. His shoulder ached, his ribs were twinging uncomfortably, and he had to pee. Robby had lost concentration in the book about twenty minutes ago and was checking the iExit app for anything fast food.

"Dad," he hissed pulling into the blinding, well-lit McDonald's parking lot.

His father's snoring, changed pitch, but he still didn't wake up. Even Diaz didn't wake. Robby scrounged in the cup holder, counting out two dollars in quarters, enough for an OJ and a bottle of water, anything more and he’d have to wake up his dad. He shut off the car, scooped up the keys, the change and slipped out, slamming the door. Loud and hard enough to rattle the car.

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His dad was in a vile mood when Robby returned to the car, Robby shoved the weird plastic container of OJ at his dad before he could even formulate a sentence.

“McDonald’s again? Keene, talk about a limited repertoire,” Miguel groused.

“Sorry, but I take offense to 7-11’s early morning grilling of hot dogs and pizza.”

“How damn long were you driving? Jeeze, Robby--"

Robby stopped his father with a narrow-eyed gaze before the man would say something they'd both would regret. "You survived. Diaz is still living and breathing. Car is in one piece. The two of you had a good night's sleep. What the fuck are you complaining about?"

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Robby had misinterpreted his words. Johnny wasn't judging Robby's ability; he meant his words to be construed as concern and his lack of fatherly responsibilities. "I'm not complaining," Johnny spoke softly, ignoring Miguel's eyeroll that he captured in his peripheral vision.

"Sure sounded like it." Robby opened his water and took a long drink.

"It was parental concern."

Robby lowered the water and stared at Johnny. "You need to work on your presentation."

"I'm hungry," Miguel complained, interrupting their discussion, "not in the mood for fast food, especially McDonald’s."

"Me neither," Johnny said ignoring Robby's expression, strangely feeling as if he'd disappointed him.

Robby sighed, his fingers moving faster than the speed of light over the face of his phone. “There’s a twenty-four hour diner up the road.” His son didn’t wait for anyone to agree, stone-faced he started the car.

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Both boys sat on opposite sides of the booth and Johnny, hesitated for a millisecond before sliding in next to Miguel. It wasn’t that he wanted to sit next to Diaz, Johnny’s choice was made so he could study Robby without being too obvious.

The young twenty something waitress approached the table, smiling sweetly. She gave Johnny a perfunctory, dismissal glance, her smile broadening at Miguel and Robby. The former returning her smile, the latter barely making eye contact. "What can I get you?"

"Coffee," Johnny answered, reaching for the menus she was handing out. "Black."

"Coffee. Black, also." Miguel echoed, accepting the menu Johnny handed to him.

Robby reached out with his left hand for the menu, drew back after a moment's hesitation (which Johnny caught) and accepted the menu with his right.

Johnny cleared his throat when Robby didn't answer.

"Hmm?" Robby responded studying Johnny as if he had two heads.

"What do you want to drink?" Miguel prodded with more than a hint of impatience.

"Oh, sorry." He smiled hugely, apologetically at the waitress, producing a dimple. "OJ please."

"I'll be right back with your drinks," the waitress answered with a hint of a smile.

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The coffee had three things going for it. The brew wasn’t instant. It was hot. And it wasn’t served out of a paper, heat resistant cup with a plastic lid.

Simultaneously, he and Diaz took a sip and leaned against the faux leather of the booth, sighing in appreciation.

Robby gazed at them over the rim of his glass. “Really guys, get a room.”

Any remark Miguel, or for that matter Johnny was going to make in response, was cut short by the appearance of the waitress. “Ready to order?” She asked, her attention on his oblivious son.

“I’ll have the pecan, banana short stack with two scrambled eggs.” Robby closed his menu and handed the ten commandment sized menu back.

“Eww, gross,” Diaz said before Johnny was able to formulate the exact sentiment.

Robby shrugged, pulling out his phone, effectively ending the one-sided conversation.

“I’ll have the number two with bacon, hashbrowns well done, and white toast,” Johnny handed his menu to the waitress, who wrote down his order without eye contact. “And another coffee, please.”

“I’ll have the same,” Miguel reached over Robby’s side of the table, barely missing the half filled glass of OJ when he handed the menu back.

Johnny held his breath.

Robby didn’t even look up.

Miguel offered up a tight smile that wasn’t apologetic.

“Don’t be an ass,” Johnny whispered into Miguel’s ear.

“No coffee?" Johnny stupidly asked

Robby was too entranced by his phone to even respond.

Miguel crossed his arms and leaned back, a smug expression on his face.

Frustrated, Johnny knocked on the table with his fist, millimeters from his son's phone.

"What?" he answered, giving Johnny his full attention.

"I asked you a question."

Tiredly, Robby blinked at him, slipping the phone into his pocket. "Oh, are you and Miguel done bonding?"

Mentally, Johnny counted to ten wondering if allowing the two boys to beat the shit out of each other in the parking lot of the diner would be considered bad parenting. But then, he decided to be the grown up and ignore Robby’s caustic remark and with a forced, and hopefully concerned smile, he asked again “Why didn't you order coffee?"

"Didn't see a reason to stay up." He glanced between Miguel and Johnny. "I'm assuming one of you are going to take the wheel." He fought but lost the battle and smothered a yawn with the back of his hand.

"I'll take the next shift," Miguel volunteered.

Before Johnny could voice his objection, Robby asked the all-important question. “Who taught you to drive, Diaz?”

“Mr. LaRusso.”

Robby nodded at Johnny, raising his hands in acceptance. “We’re good.”

“We’re good?” Johnny parroted.

“Hey,” Miguel objected. “Don’t you trust me, Sensei?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you—” Johnny grimaced.

“Dad,” Robby spoke slowly, as if he was reasoning with a preschooler. “We all know that Mr. LaRusso is a tad OCD in almost everything he does. From cooking to his cars. So, I’m pretty damn positive he would’ve never gotten in the passenger seat with Diaz if he didn’t trust him.”

“I guess,” Johnny agreed, finding no argument with Robby’s logic.

“Who taught you to drive?’ Miguel asked. “Was it sensei?”

Robby snorted, shaking his head. “That would be a no. One of my mother’s boyfriends taught me to drive so I could pick them up at the bar when they got too shit faced to make it home.”

“Aww, shit—” The rest of Johnny’s bad father sentiment was lost when the bubbly waitress appeared.

“Here you go,” she crowed, placing his and Miguel’s food in front of them. Robby’s she placed down with strange reverence. “This is for you.”

Robby glanced at her through his bangs and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Are you okay?” she whispered, touching her face.

Robby looked at Johnny in confusion. “Yeah?”

“I’m just making sure—” she literally sneered at Johnny, who kicked at Miguel when he began to laugh.

“Oh, this?” Robby touched the bruise on his face which had settled into some type of rotten fruit color. “Skate boarding.”

“Ouch,” she shuddered in sympathy. “Be careful.”

“Yes, Robby,” Miguel mimicked as he buttered his toast, “be careful.”

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Once she disappeared, they ate in silence, the only sound were forks hitting plates until Johnny came up for air when he reached for his coffee. He pointed towards his son’s plate with his half-filled cup. “Strange combination.”

“Pecans and bananas?” Robby dragged a forkful of pancake through a puddle of syrup. “Not that strange, they had it on the menu.”

“True.” Johnny signaled to the waitress to top off his coffee. “Not something I would’ve expected you to eat.”

“Sorta like the stuffed shrimp at the hotel? Don’t take offense to this,” Robby poured more syrup onto his already sodden pancakes, remaining quiet until the waitress had refilled his and Miguel’s coffee before continuing, “but I can pretty much count on two hands the number of times we’ve eaten together, that I can recall and you were sober enough to remember, so I’m not too sure how you would know what I like.” He dropped his fork, finished his juice and stood. “I’m done,” he said, throwing his napkin over his plate. “I’ll be in the car.”

Johnny exhaled slowly, he could feel Miguel passing judgment over the exchange without saying a word. "Go ahead," he stated, frustrated, "say your peace." And he braced himself, waiting for Miguel to comment about Robby's temper tantrum or immature behavior.

"You don’t know what Robby’s favorite foods are?"

Huh? What the hell? Johnny wracked his brain for an answer. "Pizza. Robby loves pizza.”

“Everyone loves pizza,” Miguel explained with a sigh, the sigh of a well-loved child whose mother and grandmother surely filled the cabinets and fridge with his favorite foods. "That's really sad."

“Yes, it is, Diaz. One of things I’m going to work on fixing.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Robby sat in the back seat, windows opened, at the moment the early morning cool breeze was enough. He was pissed, not at his dad but at himself, for doing what he had done.  Leaving a situation. Having a temper tantrum.  Because why? Daddy didn’t know what his favorite food was? Or, and he hated to admit it, was it because Diaz was there, ‘cause Robby was pretty damn sure his dad would know what his nemeses’ favorite food was.

Robby inhaled and exhaled slowly, a hand to his side adding counter pressure to his still aching ribs. His stomach growled, and Robby sighed. Angry and obviously still hungry. Fuck this shit. He stuck in his headphones and picked up where he’d left off with his audio book.

xxxxxxxxxx

They finished eating, the two of them, in relative silence, the diner filling with people. The waitress returned and basically threw the check on the table when she noticed Robby was missing, his plate only half finished.

“Skateboarding accident my ass,” she hissed at Johnny.

“You can forget about a tip, miss,” he shot back.

“At least I can sleep at night,” were her parting words.

“Fuck,” Johnny said, not caring if his curse drew the attention of the assholes at the nearest tables. He grabbed the check, stood and started to walk away before realizing Miguel was still sitting at the table staring at his empty plate. Johnny groaned and rolled his eyes, he was too old for teenage drama or words of advice, but he slid into the seat opposite Miguel, pushing Robby’s plate to the side. “What? Are you upset that the bitch had the hots for Robby?”

“No.” Miguel screwed his face up into the nerdy expression he used to wear when Johnny had upset his balance in the modern world. “Aren’t you upset that people thought Robby’s bruises were from you?”

“Only the waitress thought that and I wouldn’t be that much of an idiot to hit my son where it showed and then drag his ass out to breakfast in diner filled with people.”

Miguel rolled his eyes. “I can’t even respond to the stupidness of what you just said.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Here, across the table, in sensei’s own words of a crowded diner, shockingly, Miguel felt the tiniest pinprick of empathy towards Robby. Less than three weeks with his own father had left him with feelings of inadequacy, anger and hurt. Emotionally, rubbed raw. Weeks compared to seventeen years.

“Robby’s shoulder—” he blurted out, the action he witnessed he never wanted to share because, well he wanted Keene to suffer, “I think one of the guys—” the breakfast that had tasted so delicious, shifted uncomfortably in his stomach. Guilt left a horrific aftertaste.

“What did one of the guys do, Diaz?” Sensei said, his anger matching the time he and Hawk had dislocated Robby’s shoulder. His teeth were clenched, his hands balled into fists, and the words were clipped and concise.

“You were in front of us,” Miguel said, studying the table,” clearing a path. Robby was in front of me, one of my dad’s,” god that word made him want to choke, “entourage barreled out of a side corridor and slammed Robby into the wall…”

“And—”

“Robby knocked him out with a roundhouse kick—”

“Yes!” Sensei said with an overly enthusiastic pump of his arm.

Miguel plowed forward, “he was favoring that shoulder, you know the one that hit the wall?” You know the one, the little voice in his head proclaimed. The same shoulder Hawk hurt and you finished. Yeah, that shoulder. Miguel forced his internal conscious to shut the fuck up and continued. “I don’t think it was like dislocated or anything, but he was holding it against his body, until,” Miguel’s voice trailed off.

“Until what?” Sensei was leaning across the table into Miguel’s personal space.

“Until we were out in the parking lot and he saw you.”

Sensei’s face fell. “Fuck.” He stood, tossed a few singles worth of a tip onto the table. “I’m gonna go pay. I’ll meet you in the car.”  

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny opened the trunk, rummaged through the bags before locating what he wanted. Angrily, he slammed the trunk shut with more force than was necessary. He stomped to the back door of the car, opened it and flung the bottle of Advil onto Robby's lap.

His son opened one eye and removed one ear bud. “Thanks?” Robby shook the bottle.

“Miguel told me what happened with your shoulder,” Johnny said by way of an explanation.

Robby's expression turned thunderous. "So, things haven't changed, have they?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Johnny bent down, keeping one arm on the door and one hand splayed on the seat next to Robby.

"Are you fucking serious? I would prefer not to be the topic of conversation between you and Diaz, especially without me being there."

"I didn't ask. Diaz told me. Look," tentatively Johnny placed his hand over Robby's, "I'm not going to apologize for being concerned.”

Robby appeared to deflate.

“Are you bruised?” Johnny reached out then pulled back his hand in retaliation to Robby’s expression.

“Concern is bad enough. We previously had the hovering discussion.”

“No hovering,” Johnny nodded. “Can I ask how your range of motion is—“

Robby scooped up the Advil and shook the bottle. “Enough, okay? This will take care of everything.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“When? Getting Miguel outta the situation was your first concern.”

“Saying it like that makes it sound like you’re second—“

"Don't put words in my mouth or thoughts in my head. Okay? I understood the situation and the need. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He shoved the ear bud back into place, effectively ending the exchange.

Johnny stood with a sigh and closed the door, allowing himself a moment of peace before Miguel showed up, plastic white bag in one hand, a drink cup in the other. “Do I even want to know?”

Miguel shoved the bag at Johnny’s midsection. “For some damn reason the waitress took pity on Robby. Fresh pancakes—” he raised the drink, “vanilla shake.”

“And?” Admittedly, the weird combination of pecans and bananas smelled delicious.

“And what?” Miguel answered with a shrug. “And I had to stop her from chasing after you and spitting on you?”

“Very funny.”

“Wasn’t joking, Sensei.”

“Not too sure how I turned out to be the villain—”

“And Robby the hero,” Miguel shook his head. “Fucked up, I totally agree.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Driving this was nothing like driving his mother’s car. Smooth, sleek and Miguel swore the Audi purred.

Sensei said, patting the dashboard. “You’re handling her with the respect she deserves.”

“Thank you,” Miguel managed to get the eighties station to play. His gaze slid from the road to Sensei in the passenger seat to the rear-view mirror to peripherally watch Robby.

He’d seen Robby take Advil, and wash it down with the shake. Open the Styrofoam container and eat a pancake with his fingers, pop a slice of banana in his mouth and chase it down with the rest of the shake. On the sixth revolution of road, Sensei, Robby, he had finally closed his eyes, snoring, still wearing the ear buds. The shake in the cup holder, the Advil bottle rolling around on the seat and the Styrofoam container shoved back into the plastic bag.

Miguel let out a breath.

“He’s sleeping,” Sensei said, wearing a weirdly endearing smile, enough to make Miguel’s chest hurt and remember the reason he’d gone to Mexico in the first place.

“Yeah,” Miguel said, not even sure if Sensei’s observation required an answer.

“I’m sorry you didn’t find the father you wanted.”

‘I only wanted you,’ Miguel silently screamed. ‘while you only wanted Robby.’ He remained quiet, terrified his thoughts were going to erupt into words he had no desire to share.

“You are so important to me, Miguel. You had faith—” Sensei faltered, “you believed in me. I’m a better person, not great,” he hastily added, “but better for having you in my life. I told Robby just that.”

Miguel was unsure where this was heading, he was waiting for the ‘but’—

“I’m not your father.”

And there it was. “I’m well aware of that Sensei, you’re Robby’s father.”

“I haven’t been Robby’s father for most of his life. I’m trying to fix that,” Sensei sighed, “if he’d let me. We’ve had our share of angry words. Disappointments. Failures. I’m going to have to work my ass off.”

“You’re a good person, Sensei,” Miguel argued. “You shouldn’t have to work hard to make up for past mistakes.”

“Maybe it’s about trust then?”

Miguel shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

“I need to apologize for what I said at the tournament.”

“No, you said what needed to be said.”

“Nope,” Sensei said, popping the p. “I was a fucking asshole. LaRusso was an idiot. We were unable to get past our history and be adults. To do what needed to be done. To do what Robby had asked of me months prior to the tournament. To work together.”

“You and Mr. LaRusso did work together—”

“No,” Johnny said sadly, “we didn’t. The tournament was lost because of the adults. Not you. Not Sam. Not our students. We shouldered the responsibility. LaRusso and I are our own worst enemies. And that’s what I should’ve said to you in the locker room. Not the bullshit that I wouldn’t be your sensei any longer. That was a pussy move. A coward’s words. I’ll always be your sensei, just like you’ll always be my—”

“Your what? Your stand-in on the more than likely chance being Robby’s father doesn’t go as you planned?” Shit, he hadn’t meant for his anger to erupt.

“You were never a replacement.”

“It didn’t feel like that then,” he glanced in the rear-view mirror, “sure as hell feels like that now.”

“Shit, Diaz.” Sensei scrubbed at his face, running a hand under his nose.

Was he crying? Over what Miguel said? “I’m sorry,” Miguel apologized, his voice soft.

“Damnit, don’t apologize,” Sensei said gruffly, “you were never a fucking replacement for Robby. You are the person who had given me strength and guidance to believe in myself. And while you’re not my blood, you are… you are--” Sensei’s gaze dropped down, studying his hands,

“Yeah, what am I, Sensei?” Miguel made no attempt to smother his anger.

“You are important,” he answered with firm conviction.

“But I’m not your son.”

“No, you aren’t. Not by blood. No, you are right, you aren’t, but ask Robby,” Sensei replied so quietly, Miguel barely was able to hear his words over the music, “he’ll tell you being my son wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Diaz. Shit. No. I’m not good at this.” He flicked his hand between the two of them. “Words. Are not my strong point. Emotions. I’m a badass kinda guy,” he shrugged, embarrassed, “I sorta suck at being a pussy —”

“Yeah, you do, but I sorta get what you’re trying to say,” Miguel said fighting the urge to smile. “You know, Sensei, having me in your life it’s not up to me,” Miguel jerked a thumb over his shoulder, “it’s up to him. Robby.”

“Did you even hear what Robby said? He has no energy to waste on the past.”

“And that’s all I see when I look at him. The past. Hospital. Coma. Wheelchair. Learning to walk all over again. He robbed months from me.”

“He did. Robby isn’t denying that. Juvie was the hell of his own making. Take it from one, dwelling on the past fucks up any chance you have at a future.”

“Robby can’t bring himself to apologize.” Miguel slammed the wheel with the flat of his hand.

“Easy,” Sensei soothed, “the car never did anything against you.”

“Sorry wouldn’t have killed him to apologize.”

“And like he asked you before, would those words have made a difference to you?”

Miguel took more than a moment to answer. “No.”

“Sadly, words mean nothing to my son. He spent his entire life disappointed because of the words adults have spoken to him. Promises made. Then broken. I’ll call you. I won’t forget next time. I thought your soccer game was next week. I’ll bring your birthday present—” the sigh was soul deep. “LaRusso was no better. Neither was Robby’s mother.”

Sensei placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “The guilt for what happened, Robby— hasn’t forgotten.”

“Neither have I.” Miguel cleared his throat. “Tell me Sensei, why did Robby go to Cobra Kai.”

The older man huffed,“he didn’t. Robby went to John Kreese, the only person who showed up to visit him in juvie—”

“You didn’t go?” Miguel was unable to understand Sensei’s behavior. “The entire time Robby was in juvie you never visited him?”

“Once. At a soup kitchen where he was doing community service and I accused him of starting fights in prison because his eye was—never mind. That visit didn’t end well and the other one, the planned visit, I just didn’t show up for.”

The unwanted feeling of empathy towards Robby was creeping back, making  Miguel feel what? Guilty? Robby wasn’t the victim. He was.

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny was at a loss, all the words they’d spoken were like water circling a drain. The problem was he understood what Miguel had said. Where he was coming from. Everything made sense. He toyed with the idea of A days and B days like in High School. Instead of gym and study hall it would be A days for Robby and B days for Miguel.

No. Shit. He’d be right back where he didn’t want to be, a father to his son every other day. That’s not how parenthood worked. Asshole ideas are what had landed them in this shitstorm.

“Miguel,” Johnny began, using Robby’s technique, “I need you to listen. And think about what I’m asking.”

“Okay—” the word was drawn out as if Miguel was unsure what the heck was going to be required of him.

“What if the situation was reversed and you kicked Robby over the—”

“I never would’ve done that, Sensei, ever.”

“Why do you say that? In the heat of the tournament, you dislocated his shoulder. Finished what Hawk started.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because Robby got up and walked away. Big shit, he didn’t win the trophy—”

“Miguel. You were angry. You knew what you were doing. You knew the outcome of your kick.”

“I’m not the guilty party, Sensei,” Miguel spit out the word as if it were a curse.

“Goddamn it, Diaz. You and Robby are talking but you’re not listening to each other. Fine, both of you can carry your self-righteousness for the next thirty-five years.” He scrubbed at his face, taking a breath before he said something he would be unable to take back. “See how well that worked for me and LaRusso? There is no going back and changing the outcome of anything that happened. Look, the two of you do not have to be friends.”

“We never will.”

“Sure whatever,” Johnny suddenly missed the nerdy boy who had begged to learn karate.

“So now Robby is the prodigal son returned? He can do no wrong?”

“Get off this exit,” Johnny said.

“Why?”

“Because I fucking said so.”

Miguel grimaced, but Johnny realized he didn’t object and did what was asked of him.

“There,” Johnny pointed to the parking lot of McDonald’s.

“Really? Why do we—

Frustrated, Johnny ordered, “just pull in and park.”

Miguel did, Undid his seatbelt, then turned to Johnny. “Now?”

“Turn the car off. I didn’t want to continue this discussion with you behind the wheel. I wanted—no, I needed to have your attention. Your full attention.”

“Robby?”

They turned in unison. Robby was sleeping, still snoring.

“I may not know what the kid’s favorite meal was but he was always able to sleep through people arguing. Guess he had enough experience.” He took a deep breath and began, “you know why Robby’s with me?”

“I thought we weren’t discussing Robby. That I was unable—”

“Fuck that, I changed my mind. Did you ever wonder why I’m driving this beautiful, expensive car? To Mexico?”

Miguel shrugged. “Thought you stole it?”

“Seriously, Diaz,?” Johnny shook his head, fighting to hide his smile. “No, I didn’t steal it, nor did Robby,” he hurriedly added. “I knew Terry Silver took offense to Robby losing to Hawk. I knew that Terry Silver hurt him when Robby quit Cobra Kai but I suck at being a father ‘cause I didn’t see it. I’m not blind. I saw the damage, hell I fixed his shoulder but I didn’t see beyond that.” Johnny sighed. “The damn LaRusso’s they saw. Called me to task about dragging him to Mexico.”

“They didn’t offer to let him stay with them?”

Johnny waved away his question with a quick hand movement. “They did, but that’s a story for another time. A story for Robby, if he chooses, to tell you.”

“They lent you this car.”

Johnny nodded. “Gave Robby the phone too. Put us up in an expensive hotel on our way down. It was Robby’s choice to leave earlier. To get to Mexico.”

“Oh,” Miguel was uncomfortable, squirming in his seat.

“Even you saw it,” Johnny said, touching his left shoulder, “when I—”

“Why are you telling me this?” Miguel asked, his voice calm. “Are you trying to evoke sympathy for—”

“If you want the honest truth, Diaz, I have no fucking clue why. Maybe so you can see you got the better part of me, if there is such a thing. That I’m trying hard to be a father to Robby. That you’re so important to me, I don’t want to fuck things up with you. Take your pick.” Then he continued, “where the fuck are you getting that idea from that I consider Robby the prodigal son?”

“From you. Comparing me dislocating his shoulder to him kicking me over the railing. A sling versus a wheelchair.”

“Wow, basically, Robby doesn’t have a hope in hell to make amends?”

“I’m sorry, Sensei, no,” Miguel’s voice was soft.

“You know, Miguel, I always said I’d have your back and,” Johnny said just as softly, reaching out to touch Miguel’s shoulder, “I understand where you’re coming from. Where Robby was coming from, but Robby made me one promise, that he would never throw the first punch. Can you make the same promise?”

“Honestly?” Miguel asked.

“Honestly,” Johnny encouraged with a nod.

“In the heat of the moment, I don’t have a fucking clue.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Two hours later, the morning sun gave way to clouds and it was starting to rain. Miguel was a good enough driver, but now Johnny decided a little over three hours was enough, especially if the weather was going to turn bad. The fact that Robby was still asleep wasn’t sitting great, either.

“Pull into the next rest area. Time to switch drivers.”

xxxxxxxxxx

The rain had started as Johnny opened the rear door, surprised as a yawning Robby met his gaze with the slightest of smiles. “All done being besties with Diaz?”

“Robby,” Johnny made no effort to hide the warning ‘don’t be an ass’ tone from his voice.

Robby answered with a “sorry” not really sorry tone right back at him.

“Get out,” he answered, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “Time for you to ride shotgun and Miguel to have the back seat. Chinese fire drill!” Johnny clapped his hands.

“Sensei?”

Robby stopped unbuckling his seatbelt and stared at Johnny. “What the hell is a Chinese fire drill and I’m pretty positive it’s not politically correct.” Robby laughed to himself. “I’m pretty positive the majority of shit that comes out of your mouth isn’t politically correct.”

“Get the hell outta the back seat,” Johnny commanded trying to hide his smile.

xxxxxxxxxx

Robby waited until Diaz was watching a DVD, headphones on before he spoke. “Me. Diaz. You. It’s gonna be harder than I thought.” There was an infinite sadness in his voice. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand, hell, I didn’t expect miracles.”

“Yeah, you did,” Robby stated. “And—and,” he stuttered, tripping awkwardly over his words. His emotions. “Maybe I did, too. Stupid huh? Kicked the guy. Put him in a coma. He spent months in a wheelchair—and still when I look at him all I see is the two of you in the dojo’s parking lot. Him dislocating my shoulder. Rubbing his relationship with Sam and with you in my face during the school fight.”

“Kid—” his dad’s voice was soft, a supportive sound, letting him know if Robby failed he had a place to fall.

“When I told Miguel I wouldn’t look back—I wasn’t lying. When I turned around all I saw behind me are remnants. Of everything. I’m not even angry anymore, I’m just fucking tired. For things I have done. For the hate reflected in Diaz’ eyes when he’s within two feet of me.” Robby wasn’t sure if his dad was perfecting the art of listening or he just had no idea what to say. “I learned balance from Mr. LaRusso only to have him kick my legs out from under me. I learned disappointment from you.”

“Ouch,” his dad said.

“You and Mr. LaRusso are trying to make amends. I see the motions. I hear the words.” Robby rubbed a closed fist over his heart, “but the fear is still in there, and I hold back, I know I do, but trusting isn’t second nature to me and it hasn’t been for a long time.”

“I never knew you had so many words to say to me that weren’t filled with anger and hate.” His dad’s large hand rested on Robby’s thigh in support? As an anchor?

“I want to go home,” Robby was studying the rain spatters against the window.

“Me too,” his dad agreed, squeezing his thigh once before returning both hands to the wheel.

xxxxxxxxxx

I want to go home, too, Miguel thought sinking lower into the seat. The movie had ended and the headphones, he learned, were not noise cancelling. Sensei and Keene’s conversation was muffled, but he’d gotten the gist.

All this talking. All these words. Round and round and round. Over and over. Anger. Disappointment. Hate.

Miguel missed the boy who’d taken Sam on the not really a date to Golf n Stuff. The nerdy kid who had learned from Johnny Lawrence how to be badass. Stupidly, he missed the Johnny Lawrence who all those many months ago, in his eyes, had been infallible.

Now he saw his Sensei was as broken as the rest of them.

xxxxxxxxxx

The eighties station was drowned out by the downpouring of rain.

Miguel would be the first to admit he wasn’t confident enough in his driving skills to offer taking over the wheel.

“Dad, let me—”

Sensei cut him off. “No fucking way.”

“Maybe we should pull over and—” Robby attempted.

“Robby, and I say this in the best possible way. Please shut the hell up and allow me to concentrate while I drive through—”

A bolt of lightning lit up the sky followed by a crack of thunder so loud the car shook.

“Monsoon,” Sensei added. “Do the windshield wipers go any faster? They’re not doing shit.” A truck in the lane to the right, sped through a puddle, soaking the Audi with a waterfall of rain. The Audi swerved, horns honking, Miguel locked his arms on the seat and braced himself, waiting for impact. Robby grabbed the “oh shit” handle, his body swaying with the car’s movement.

Seconds felt like hours until Sensei regained control.

“Asshole,” he hissed.

Slowly Miguel unlocked his arms, Robby released the handle. Both remained silent, until Robby raised the radio attempting to drown out the rain.

Three hours later, Sensei admitted defeat. “Fuck. Robby call LaRusso’s travel agency and have him find us a hotel before the car gets swept away.”

“Or we get killed,” Miguel piped in.

“Yeah that, too,” Sensei agreed.

xxxxxxxxxx

Forty-five minutes later the three of them stood like drowned rats in the lobby, shivering at the artic blast of the air conditioner. Their duffle bags were creating little lakes in the carpet. “This was the closest place LaRusso could find?” Sensei hissed at Robby from the side of his mouth.

The guy behind the desk was not happy and handed Sensei the card key envelope with trepidation. “Sorry I explained to Mr. LaRusso that the only available room has a king sized bed—”

Sensei snatched the key. “As long as it has a hot shower, towels, room service or a bar we’re good to go.

Xxxxxxxxxx

After the first hallway, Robby stripped off his sneakers and socks. “Can’t stand the feeling of squishing as I walk,” he proclaimed to the hallway.

Johnny and Miguel were trailing behind Robby. “Hey, wait up,” Johnny called, his voice bouncing off the walls. “Jeeze,” Johnny exhaled, cursing under his breath when Robby made a turn and then disappeared from view.

They made a left, then a right. “Sensei, look.” Miguel pointed to the end of the hall.

“Robby?” Double doors at the far end but Robby was standing to the side of the doors, facing the wall, his shoulders shaking.

Damn squishy sneakers or not, Johnny hightailed down the hall. “Hey, kid—” he placed a hand on Robby’s shaking shoulders. “Are you—” Johnny whispered the word, not wanting to embarrass his son in front of a fast approaching Miguel.

“What?” Robby gasped, turning around, confusing Johnny cause there were tears on Robby’s face. “Look,” he said pointing to the double doors behind Johnny.

Robby wasn’t crying he was laughing. Loudly. And Johnny turned to see what had—

“What the fuck. That’s our room? LaRusso has a damn warped sense of humor.”

Robby was clearing his throat, making a futile attempt to gain control.

“Sensei, does that say, ‘Honeymoon Suite’ on the plaque?”

“Yes, it does Diaz, let’s just hope there’s a fully stocked bar.” Johnny took the key card and attempted to both insert the key and get the door opened at the same time, until Robby took pity on him, grabbed the card and opened the double doors in record time. “I don’t want to know why you’re an expert in that, okay?” he hissed shoving past Robby.

Johnny fumbled on the wall for the light switch. "Oh." The main room was well--huge. Sofa. Table. Chairs. Kitchen. Mini fridge (fully stocked he could only pray). A flat screen that Johnny was damn sure bigger than his entire living room.

Robby was still laughing at the ridiculousness of the room. All Miguel managed was a simple 'wow' which he kept repeating.

Robby dropped his sneakers on the ceramic tile by the double doors. "I'm going to find a bathroom and change. If I get lost, I'll send up a flare."

xxxxxxxxxx

Barely afternoon and the three of them were changed, their wet shit drying over the shower rods in the bathroom. Robby and Miguel were sitting on the stools by the kitchenette, two chairs in between them, which based on their expressions wasn't enough. Robby’s phone rang just as Johnny was opening the fridge.

Robby answered, pressed a button before placing the phone on the granite countertop. “Hi, Mr. LaRusso.”

//Robby? How are you doing? Miguel? Johnny?”//

“Yeah, the gang’s all here. Thank you for the—”

“Really, LaRusso. The Honeymoon Suite?” Johnny slammed the fridge door the glass bottles nestled inside rattling in alarm.

There was unmistakable giggling in the background followed by an abundance of LaRusso shushing.

“Glad Amanda is having a good laugh at our expense. My expense.”

//”No, Johnny, it’s my expense if you want to get down to it.”//

“In that case,” Johnny opened the fridge and took out a bottle of some imported beer. “Cheers,” he said, flipping off the cap and flinging it the length of the counter. Robby trapped it under his hand expertly flipping it into the sink to Johnny’s right.

“Thanks, Mr. LaRusso.” Robby narrowed his eyes at him.

Johnny ignored Robby’s glare, letting it roll off his back like water on a duck.

“Thanks, Mr. LaRusso.” Miguel said, staring down Robby instead of Johnny.

Mr. LaRusso awkwardly cleared his throat. //”I checked the weather and—“//

“What? It’s raining? No shit, Sherlock.”

“Dad, you’re an idiot, can you please let—”

//”Robby, please take me off speaker and hand the phone to your father.”//

Robby smirked at Johnny and did as instructed. “Oooh, you’re in trouble.”

“LaRusso doesn’t scare me,” Johnny countered plucking the phone from his son’s outstretched fingers. Johnny tucked the phone against his ear and shoulder, turning his back on the boys (not sure how safe that actually was) and faced the floor to ceiling windows. There was only blackness in the distance, And the sound of rain against the glass and—

//”Are you even listening to me?”//

Johnny took a swallow of beer before answering. “Nope.”

//”I checked the weather and I’m sorry you might be stuck there for a day or so—“//

“I’m sorry?”

//”What? Now you want me to repeat—“//

“It’s fucking rain, LaRusso.”

//”Roads are washed out, Johnny. Flooding.”// LaRusso cleared his throat. //”I spoke with Miguel’s mom and she agreed, safer for you to stay holed up—“//

“Safer?” Johnny hissed. “I have two stupid boys with father issues in my midst. Caged in four walls of a Honeymoon Suite. They are capable of murdering each other with their bare hands. They dislike each other with every molecule of their hormonal, teenage, angst driven bodies. Given second thoughts, I would rather build an Ark and travel through the biblical flood than—”

//”Remember, Johnny, you are the adult.”//

Fuck that Miyagi-do bullshit. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better, how? If something happens, I’m going to name you as accessory to murder,” Johnny sputtered.

//”Think of it as an all expense paid vacation.”//

Click.

The fucking bastard hung up on him.  Johnny flung the phone, thankfully aiming the technology towards the overstuffed, monstrous, leather couch.

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny picked the phone from where it rested on the couch. “LaRusso said bye,” he said handing it back to Robby. He dug his phone out of the pocket of his hoodie and placed it, cracked screen and all, by Miguel. “Call your mom.”

“Why?”

Johnny ignored the distasteful way Miguel was examining his phone.

“Cause she’s your mom?” Johnny threw up his hands, “and LaRusso said she was--”

“Was what?” Miguel was staring at him. “Sensei?”

Johnny told them, using words like vacation. Free ride. Enjoy. Big screen TV. With a forced smile and the imported bottle of beer clutched in his hand.

Strangely, the translation to Robby and Miguel reflected the feeling of prison with a cellmate from hell.

“Nice try, Dad,” Robby said, sliding off his stool and pocketing his phone. “I’m going to get the lay of the land.”

“I’m going to attempt to call my, Mom.” Miguel raised Johnny’s mutilated phone. “On this.”

The front door to the suite and the bedroom door slammed simultaneously.

“Fuck.” Johnny opened the fridge, grabbed another expensively tasteless beer and found his way to the couch and the remote.

xxxxxxxxxx

Barefoot, Robby wandered the halls teeming with people. Stressed people. Screaming kids. Businessmen and women. The first floor had a huge screen on the wall, under which was a weirdly dining room piece of furniture overflowing with a basket of snacks. Fruit. Complimentary coffee and a carafe of water with lemon and lime. The TV was tuned to the weather and people were watching as if it were a lottery drawing and they each held the winning ticket.

He grabbed an apple and continued his journey.  Pool, hot tub and gym. He had no bathing suit so the pool and hot tub were out but the gym was damn promising.

Restaurant. Actually, two.

Robby found a back staircase, quiet and he sat and dug his phone from his pocket.

“Hey,” he said softly, resting his back against the wall, bringing his legs onto the step with him.

//”Keene,”// she answered, not masking the smile in her voice. //”Dare I ask where you are?”//

“In a hotel. Stranded because of the weather.”

//”With Diaz and your dad? Shit. I’m sorry. Car ride was bad enough but stationary— hold on”// muffled voices, //”Can Brandon talk to you for a hot second just because--’’//

Robby hid his smile against his shoulder. Embarrassed though there wasn’t a witness. Tory’s vocal presence releasing a knot that had taken residence in his chest.

//”Robby!”// Brandon’s voice was loud. Exuberant, forcing Robby to hold the phone away from his ear.

“Hey, Branman—”

//”Ugh, I hate that nickname. Makes me sound like a healthy super hero.”//

Robby laughed and the “I miss you” flowed from his mouth before he had a chance to think.

//”Cool. I miss you. Tory misses you. Even my mom said she missed you.”// and in the same breath //”when you get home you’re taking me to the skate park, right? You promised.’’//

“I know,” Robby whispered. “Never forget a promise.”

//”And ice cream? Now that you’re not boring—“//

//”Gimme that phone you pain in the ass!”// Tory’s voice was filled with humor. //”God, he doesn’t know when to stop.”// she sighed //”Brandon said good bye.”//

“He’s a good kid.”

//”Pffft that’s cause you don’t have to live with him—“//

“I never thanked you for your couch. And sharing your brother and your mom. I’m going to give living with my dad a go.”

//”Sucker for punishment?”//

“I never learn.” He pulled at a loose thread on his jeans.

//”Offer is always on the table, Keene,”// There was a hesitation //”What happened with you and Sensei Silver?’’//

“Ah, Nichols, chalk it up to I never learn.”

//”You’re an idiot, but that’s one of your most endearing qualities.”//

A huge rumble of thunder, deep and loud enough the walls in the stairwell vibrated. “Time to make my way back to hell.”

//”Robby, take care, okay? Diaz can be a fucking A-hole when he—“//

“So can I, Tory.”

//”Throw your dad in the  mix and I keep expecting an announcer to yell ‘let’s get ready to rumble’. Take videos—maybe not, we don’t want incriminating evidence.”//

Robby laughed. “No video. No evidence. Once in my lifetime was enough. I’m going to be good. Promised my dad I wouldn’t throw the first punch.”

Slowly he hung up the phone while Tory was still laughing.

xxxxxxxxxx

Miguel stared at the mangled phone, sucking on the finger he’d cut running the digit over the cobwebbed glass.

Now that he was safe and on his way home, and after ending their call, Miguel realized there had been an edge to his mom’s voice. The old ‘wait until I get you home’ attitude when he’d misbehaved in public as a child. Okay, what he’d done, hadn’t been the smartest of moves, and finding his father had been the worst type of punishment, Miguel wasn’t looking forward to his mother adding insult to injury.

Sam. Cautiously, Miguel pecked out her number.

//”Sensei Lawrence. Is everything okay?//

"It's me, Sam, it's Miguel. I don’t have my phone, I’m on Sensei’s phone."

//"Miguel? Oh my god, are you okay? Are you on your way home? Everyone’s been so worried.”// There was a pause, a drawing of breath //”I’ve been so worried.”//

Miguel smiled for the first time in what felt like forever. "I'm fine. We're on our way home but got waylaid on account of horrible storms and flooding. So now we’re holed up in some hotel."

//"You're safe, right?//

"All safe." Damn thankfully, she hadn't asked about his father. What he had found. Or didn't find.

//"Is Robby okay? Both my mom and dad said--"//

The warmth was washed away as if he'd been doused by a bucket of ice water. No feeling of empathy. No mercy, no matter what hell Mr. LaRusso and Sensei Lawrence fought to drum into his head. "He's fine.”

And then the warmth returned with three little words. //”I miss you,”// Sam said, her voice soft and gentle.

“I miss you too,” he thought a minute before continuing, “I was wrong not to stay to see your match.”

//”Yeah, you were. I needed you there.”//

Miguel felt guilt settle hot and heavy in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, he opened his mouth to grovel for another minute or two when he heard a knock on the hotel door, followed by Sensei’s shout of impatience. “I have to go. I’ll call you again when we’re on the road.”

//”Be safe,”// she whispered before ending the call.

xxxxxxxxxx

Miguel walked out of the bedroom right into a heated discussion? Dispute? One was never sure when it was between Sensei and Robby.

“Look,” Robby pointed to the double doors. “This hotel is overflowing with people. Why don’t we just bring in room service and watch a movie instead of—”

“Two restaurants. LaRusso is footing the bill,” Johnny argued, “let’s go have fun.”

Robby sighed. Admittedly he looked as exhausted as Miguel felt. “Dad—”

“Let’s take a vote,” Johnny said enthusiastically, totally not reading Robby at all. “All for going out to get something raise their hand.

Miguel totally wanted to do what Robby had suggested, but he wouldn’t give him an inch and forced a broad smile and raised his hand.

“Two against one,” Johnny said, just short of clapping his hands. “Come on, Robby, it’ll be fun.”

Miguel saw, Robby eyeing the couch and the hesitation. Robby didn’t want to come, but he sure as hell didn’t want Miguel to spend alone time with Sensei.

“Fun,” Robby repeated. “Loads.”

xxxxxxxxxx

The menu was varied. The wait staff was bustling, harried by impatient people. Thankfully, they’d been seated far from the maddening crowd, but tucked into the corner it would appear their waiter had forgotten them.

Robby resisted the urge to say ‘I told you so’ and read the menu one more time.

“Stop it,” his dad jerked the menu from his hands, slamming it on the table. “if you keep looking at it they’ll think you’re not ready to order.”

Robby fought the urge to cringe, the jerk of the menu pulled at his shoulder, but he’d be damned if he’d give Miguel the satisfaction. Or his father.

“I’m so sorry,” the middle aged man said as he approached them, order pad at the ready. “Weather has made –”

“Yeah. Yeah,” his dad said with an impatient wave of his hand. “Burger deluxe platter, onion rings. Fries. Well done on everything. Coke. Not diet shit. Just Coke. Miguel?”

Miguel looked up, smiled broadly at his dad. “Same thing.”

Of course, Robby fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Bacon, lettuce tomato on white toast, extra mayo. Waffle fries, well done.”

“What,” his dad said, “you don’t like hamburgers?”

Robby did. He loved hamburgers and had actually wanted to order the same exact thing as his dad, until Miguel did. Stupid and childish, he knew, but Robby felt stupid and childish. And angry.

But when lunch came, without a word his father cut his burger in half and gave half to Robby in exchange for half of Robby’s BLT. He tossed two onion rings on the plate for the best of Robby’s waffle fries. “Dad?” Robby asked.

“What?” his said while shoving a piece of bacon in his mouth. “Sharing is caring or some stupid shit like that LaRusso said.”

And just like that, Robby wasn’t angry anymore.

xxxxxxxxxx

“There’s a gym here,” Robby dragged a waffle fry through an abundance of ketchup, ignoring the way Miguel’s head raised in interest. “There’s a pool and a hot tub. No bathing suits though.”

“Speak for yourself,” his dad answered, waving over the harried waiter. “Coffee please.”

“Me too,” Robby said before Miguel.

“Make that three,” Miguel chimed in with a ‘so there’ smile just for Robby.

His dad and Miguel drank it black, of course, Robby added enough milk and sugar to earn a comment from his dad.

“Eww, Robby? Really,” he plucked the fourth sugar packet from between his fingers. “Enough. Now that’s not even considered coffee.”

The best offense was an even better defense. "You literally packed trunks to go swimming?"

"Yeah," Miguel and his dad answered simultaneously.

"You didn't?" his dad asked.

Miguel just rolled his eyes.

"No. Swimming wasn't on the top of my agenda." Robby pointed to Miguel. "I thought finding Diaz was. Diaz did you think your dad was going to have a swimming pool?"

"Fuck you, Keene." Miguel busied himself with his fries and ketchup, making no eye contact with Robby.

"Robby, come on." And there was his dad's frustrated voice.

"I think going swimming after lunch would be a great idea," Miguel smiled at his dad across the table and his dad smiled back.

xxxxxxxxxx

"Hey, kid."

Robby glanced up at his dad. "Hey, dad." Miguel was in the bathroom getting changed. His dad stood above him, hovering as Robby became one with the couch.

“I’m sure you could wear shorts. You have shorts, don’t you?”

“It’s okay. Honest. Go have some time with Miguel,” Robby waved at his father, “remind him that fathers suck. I’m going to enjoy the quiet.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Robby waited five minutes after the door closed. He’d noticed what neither Diaz nor his dad had seen. Robby had picked up on it because, well, living in the LaRusso house was like living in a perpetual Honeymoon Suite.

He walked into the palatial sized bathroom and started to run the water in the tub. Smiling, he flicked the switch at the head of the tub and a multitude of jets began to churn the water.

His own private hot tub. Without Diaz. Without his dad. Without a million hotel guests breathing the same air. Phone in hand he took a picture of the tub and sent it to Tory.

//Don’t drown// she answered back.

“I’ll try not to.”

//Don’t let Diaz drown you. Because that would piss me off//

Robby laughed out loud, the sound echoing in the bathroom.

xxxxxxxxxx

There were mirrors everywhere in the bathroom, sorta off putting when one was by one’s self but Robby guessed it was a Honeymoon Suite amenity.

He folded his clothes, placed them on the counter and studied his reflection. The skin by his ribs resembled an overripe banana but his shoulder. He touched the newest bruises with his right hand, grimacing as he poked.

Robby flicked off the overhead light, fiddled around with the switches until he found one which bathed the room in muted light. Music from his phone to cut the silence and he stepped into the almost uncomfortably unbearable heat of the tub.

If he weren’t seventeen, Robby would admit this was almost better than sex. He stretched out with a groan and centered his body to the right of one of the jets so the pulsing water was an echo on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes and meditated to My Chemical Romance secure in the knowledge that the alarm on his phone would wake him up before his dad and Diaz caught him bare ass naked enjoying the Honeymoon Suite.

xxxxxxxxxx

“Shit!” Robby stared at his shirt floating in the inch of water still left in the tub. Boxers and pants made it on his body, but the shirt had slipped from his grasp. He took it, rung it out and hung it over the side to dry.

He made it out of the bathroom just as his dad and Diaz entered, laughing.

“Robby you should’ve come we had the—” his dad’s voice trailed off and he was by Robby in four strides. “What the fuck?” he grabbed Robby’s right arm and tugged him into the brilliantly lit living room. “Your shoulder—” he sputtered.

“I told you, Sensei about the guy at my father’s. With Robby. The wall.”

“That looks like it hurts. Does it hurt?” Johnny asked.

Robby jerked from his father’s grip. “I’ll live.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Robby sat in an oversized chair, wearing a too large hoodie, hiding, the only visible part were his bare feet  hanging over the arm of the chair and hands holding his phone. Great. One step forward and a million steps backwards.  

Remove Miguel from the equation Robby had told him and in truth, Johnny hated to admit, a large problem was Johnny himself. On an individual basis, he did okay in the category of relating to them. One plus one equaled a disaster, and the car ride, as far as they’d been able to go, was proof.

He made stupid remarks and he hadn’t been able to figure out how to be a parent to Robby and a whatever to Miguel. And then when he had managed to keep his mouth shut, Robby and Miguel picked up the mantel with angry looks and even angrier remarks.

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny had changed, Miguel was in the bathroom. “I’ll be right back,” Johnny told the air. “Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

“Promised I wouldn’t throw the first punch. Beyond that”—Robby let the sentence hang in the air.

Johnny slammed the door in response.

xxxxxxxxxx

Robby hadn’t moved, the only difference was a scowling Miguel flipping through TV channels at breakneck speed.

Johnny emptied the contents of the brown bag on the table.  Two bags of Fritos. Two bags of Cheetos. Two bags of Doritos. Along with a pack of playing cards. “Come on, guys, come pick your poison. “Doritos. Fritos. Cheetos.” Johnny smiled magnanimously at the two grumbling teens as they slid into their seats.

Robby grabbed the Fritos and opened the bag. He managed one before Johnny snatched it away.

“These,” he said waving the bag of Fritos, “are what you are betting with.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Sensei, really?”

“Oh ye of little faith. Watch and learn.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny dealt hands for poker—“Miguel stop licking the Dorito dust off your hands. Stop eating the—” Johnny shook his head.

Robby picked up his cards and tossed in three Fritos. Turning two cards over. “I’ll take two.”  

Miguel picked up his cards and hesitated.

“Diaz,” Robby asked while eating a Frito from his bag. “Can you even play poker?”

“No. Sorry.”

Johnny waited for Robby to share some biting remark, but he just shrugged, took back his bet of three Fritos and ate them.

They ended up playing more than a few rousing hands of Go Fish, fingers and cards covered with snack crumbs and dust.

Johnny was fighting the urge to pat himself on the back. A pack of cards. A bunch of snacks. Could it have been that easy? They were actually being civil and maybe, if Johnny wasn’t mistaken, there might have been a chuckle or two.

And then, it all went to hell in a handbasket. Miguel got up to take a piss and came back with three bottles of beer, the cold ones from the fridge, the ones on LaRusso’s dime. Robby got up, grabbed one bottle around the neck and exchanged it for a bottle of Coke, already two swallows in before he sat.

“Too good for beer, Keene?” Miguel sneered.

Robby put the soda on the table a little harder than necessary, and the cards jumped a bit.

“Robby,” Johnny warned.

“What, Dad?” An angry expression trained on him. “Diaz asked a question. I’m just going to answer.”

‘Oh, crap,’ Johnny thought.

“See, Diaz,” Robby said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “in case you haven’t noticed, your beloved Sensei, my Dad is a functioning alcoholic. And my mom was in rehab for drug and alcohol abuse. So—” he forced an anything but sweet smile on his face. “Does that answer your question?”

“One’s not going to kill ya.”

“That’s true,” Robby crowed. “Hasn’t killed either one of them yet. Though not for their lack of trying.”

“You really are a fucking asshole, Keene. You’re disrespectful and rude--“

“Fuck you,” Robby stood, his fingers gripping the edge of the table.. “You don’t get to call me disrespectful or rude. Not if you’re referring to my relationship with my father.”

“Enough,” Johnny yelled, slapping the table. “Miguel you got the answer you were looking for. Robby just calm the fuck down.

Surprisingly, it was Robby who mumbled an apology, while Miguel just grunted.

xxxxxxxxxx

There was no place to run. Locking himself in the bathroom was too teenage angst driven even for him. The bedroom? Yeah, that wouldn’t work either. Why couldn’t Diaz just grab his fucking attitude and go for a walk and leave him and his dad alone for two minutes.

His dad’s idea, his mess to clean up. Robby retreated back to the chair, pulled out his phone and ignored the not so quiet conversation between Miguel and his father. Robby only looked once he heard the door close.

His dad was looming over him, wearing an indecipherable expression. "I told Miguel to take a walk," his dad offered by way of explanation.

"All the way to Mexico."

"Not funny, Robby." His dad grabbed the front of his sweatshirt and pulled him over to the couch. "I don't want to stand over and talk to you. Sit."

Robby sat, shoved himself into the corner, spoke when his father sat with a cushion between them. “Should I wag my tail? Beg? I’m capable of a shitload of tricks you know.”

“Enough with the sarcastic crap.”

Robby tried to hide the hurt, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Jeeze,” frustrated, his father combed his fingers through his hair. “We’re going backwards, me and you and I don’t want that. I can’t figure out how to make this work. The three of us.”

“Me either.” Robby fingered the string on his hoody. “I’m okay with you doing your thing with Miguel. I know he’s important to you—”

“So are you.”

Robby sighed before continuing, “Diaz is the reason you and I are,” Robby rocked his hand between him and his dad, “working on being a family. He reminded you what you—never mind.” Over and over. The same words. The same sentiments getting them nowhere.

“Robby, I just—”

“Want to make it right. I know, Dad. And I, don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can you please—”

His dad surprised the shit out of him, by reaching out, hooking an arm around his head and planting a kiss on his hairline. “I can shut up--just for now.”

Robby leaned into his father, allowing his father’s width and strength to support him. “Thank you,” he said into his father’s chest.

xxxxxxxxxx

“No,” Robby was saying. “Definitely not. Porn, Dad. Ewww.”

“You have a problem with porn? Are you sure you’re my son—”

Miguel wasn’t sure what he’d walked into but he stood, one hand on the door knob waiting to beat a hasty retreat.

“No,” Robby said emphatically. “It’s not the porn. It’s watching porn with my father—”

“And my sensei,” Miguel agreed walking to the couch and plucking the remote from sensei’s grip.

“Thank you,” Robby said throwing up his hands. “Another voice of reason heard from.”

“Fine.” Sensei crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child. “You and Robby pick.”

“Lord of the Rings—” Miguel offered.

“No offense, Dad, but he’ll get lost—”

“Hey!”

“Star Wars?”

“Only if we start with the third one—”

“Hmm,” Miguel thought. “Ghost Busters? Jurassic Park?”

Robby nodded. “Both good choices—Go with the first Jurassic Park then move over to the Chris Pratt ones. The other ones in between just—”

Miguel laughed.

Robby scowled, but answered without knives out. “I watched a lot of movies with my mom.”

“Please,” Johnny groaned. “No Dirty Dancing.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Robby was relegated to silence in the corner chair.

“I can’t believe you never saw this movie,” Miguel said with a shake of his head.

Surprisingly, his father was entertained ‘in a holy shit’ kinda way over the T-Rex. Robby had seen the movie countless times, but it was his dad’s enthusiasm that made Robby smile.

“Pizza break,” his dad said jumping up. “Meat lover’s? Two? Three. Well done crust. Any objections?”

“An order of mozzarella sticks with sauce on the side?” Robby was pretty sure the kitchen at the hotel wouldn't be as good as Mr. LaRusso's but it was worth a try.

"Sure. It’s LaRusso’s money. Miguel?"

"Nope, Sensei, pizza is fine with me."

xxxxxxxxxx

Two slices of pizza and one, not so bad, mozzarella stick and Robby was done. He couldn’t comprehend why in this room, large enough for the three of them to have their own space, he felt claustrophobic.

“Hey,” his father tapped his leg, dragging his attention out from inside his own head. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” but there was no enthusiasm nor brightness in his voice.

His dad pointed to the bedroom, never moving his eyes from the action on the screen. “Go to sleep.”

Robby knew it was a suggestion, but it felt like an order and he balked. “Shoulder feels better if I sleep sitting up. Chair is fine.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Robby changed into sweats, grabbed a blanket and pillow from the closet in the bedroom. He knew it was early, too early to go to sleep, and neither Miguel nor his father lowered the sound nor the lights. He shoved in his earbuds, pulled the blanket up and closed his eyes—

And woke up to his father tucking the blanket around him. “Sorry,” he whispered, “didn’t mean to wake you.”

The movies were done. Beer bottles littered the table along with napkins and half eaten slices of pizza. The only light was from a dim table top lamp.

“I fell asleep?” It was an obviously stupid question and his father smiled.

“Within seconds.” His father chuckled. “Miguel is sorta pissed that he’s sharing a bed with me and I snore.”

“Loudly,” Robby added.

“He believed me and you should’ve shared the bedroom. Because we both, you know, snore.”

“Too fuckin’ bad.” Robby yawned.

His dad kissed his forehead and placed the back of his hand against Robby’s neck. So reminiscent of his mom, and he suddenly missed her with a huge ache. “I’m fine,” he stated with a gruffness to his voice that surprised him. “I don’t have a fever.”

“Just checking.”

“Hovering. We’ve had this discussion—”

“Matter of prospective,” his dad argued.

Robby pushed at his father’s leg. “Go bother Miguel. Hovering over him is acceptable. Between his mother and grandma I’m sure he’s used to—” Robby cleared his throat. “Just go.”  

“Maybe we can head on home tomorrow—” a flash of lightening lit up the room.

“Or maybe not,” Robby sighed on the crest of the answering thunder.

xxxxxxxxxx

Not even nine in the morning and already Johnny had counted to ten at least half a dozen times. Downed two coffees. Three beers and two Advil. Miguel had woken a still sleeping Robby by turning the TV up to breaking an ear drum decibel. Robby had shared some choice words including asshole and shit for brains. Which Miguel not surprisingly had taken offense to and stepped into Robby’s personal space, which he was not willing to share.

Johnny shoved himself between them, a hand on each chest, dual hearts pounding under his palms. “Quiet!” he yelled and there was silence for a moment, enough for Johnny to inject a word or two. “Sit at the table. You and you. One at a time tell me what you want for breakfast. Besides that, there will be no exchange of words until I say so. Do. You. Understand!”

“Yes, Sensei.”

“Robby?”

“Yeah, whatever.” Robby crossed his arms over his chest and slunk down in the chair.

Johnny ordered room service. He and Miguel were carbon copies of each other, Robby asked for French toast stuffed with Nutella and an OJ.

“What the hell is Nutella?” Johnny asked after hanging up the phone.

“Hazelnut.” Robby answered. “Am I allowed to get off the chair?”

Johnny shook his head when Robby stood without waiting for an answer. “Sure, go ahead. Just stay within--”

Robby walked to the windows. The rain was relentless, the sound it made on the roof and against the windows, already ingrained into their life in this hotel.

Johnny studied Robby’s reflection in the window. Arms crossed, knees locked, expression closed off, unreadable.

“Sensei, is Robby okay?”

Robby spun around. “I’m fine Diaz. Or as fine as anyone can be—”

“Enough,” Johnny shouted once again. “I revoke your privilege of walking around.” He pulled the chair out. “Put your ass back here.”

“Ah, it’s like juvie all over again. Sit. Stand,” Robby touched his face, his gaze boring into Johnny’s. “Just let me know when you want to take a swing at me—” He fell into the chair

“What the fuck got your panties in a twist?” Miguel growled.

Johnny was very glad Miguel asked the question, because he was thinking the same damn thing. Johnny placed a hand on Robby’s shoulder, his son’s body thrumming with emotion. Tight. On edge. Dangerous.

xxxxxxxxxx

“You eat the weirdest—”

“Shut it, Diaz,” Johnny cut him off before he could finish, disappointed that Miguel couldn’t read the room. Couldn’t read Robby.

By the time breakfast made an appearance, Johnny, who lived on fried bologna and beers as diet staples, was positive he had the start of an ulcer. Robby's mere presence was driving Miguel crazy and his mouth was running a marathon of jabs and barbs while he ate. Robby treated his remarks like a buzzing fly that he swatted away with a wave of his hand and an expression of annoyance coloring his features. Miyagi-do shit.

"You have a problem with me, Keene?"

“We’ve had this discussion already, Diaz. Like I explained I’m—”

“Yeah, not focusing on the past. That’s bullshit. You think that exonerates you from the shit you pulled? Kicking me over the balcony. Shaving Hawk’s mohawk. Teaching Cobra Kai Miyagi-do moves.”

Robby dropped his gaze, focusing on the French toast, pushing the pieces around with his fork.

Johnny waited, interested to hear what his son was going to say.

“You told me, that you wouldn’t accept an apology from me. I already spoke to Mr. LaRusso—”

Miguel snorted, “Yeah, and what did he say?”

Robby exhaled, placing his fork on the plate. “My conversation with Mr. LaRusso was and is between us. I tried to apologize to Hawk—”

“When?” Miguel sputtered outraged.

“Yeah, when,” Johnny asked, as curious as Miguel.

“Sam gave me his cell number, Sent him a text.”

“And—” both Johnny and Miguel asked.

“He never answered me.”

“You’re surprised?” Miguel shook his head.

“No, but that discussion, if it ever happens is between me and Hawk.”  Robby picked up his fork and used the edge to cut off a wedge of French toast, with his free hand, he rubbed his temple. So much defense is stressful. Headache producing. Words unsaid. Punches and kicks not delivered.

Johnny found the Advil and shook out two, putting them in front of Robby’s plate.

Robby’s smile was soft, his eyes grateful. “Thanks,” he swallowed, washing them down with the remainder of OJ.

“He’s playing you, Sensei, can’t you see?” Miguel dropped his fork and threw up his hands. “You’re not blind. And you’re not that stupid. He’s a con artist.”

“Fuck you, Diaz.” Robby accentuated each word with his fork. “You don’t want to be friends with me, fine. Goes both ways, but don’t fuck up what you have with my dad over your anger with me.”

“You’re an idiot.” Miguel spit back at Robby.

Robby turned and faced Johnny, but this wasn’t Johnny’s fight. “Stay here,” he commanded both boys. “Finish your breakfast. Don’t finish your breakfast, I don’t care, but do not move. Do not speak to each other. Try not to breathe each other’s air. Survive until I return. Got that?”

Miguel nodded.

Robby shrugged.

Good enough.

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny found what he had been looking for and when he returned to the room, Robby was once against sitting in the oversized chair on his phone and Miguel was watching TV.

“You. You.” Johnny pointed at the two of them. “Come with me.”

Miguel picked at his tee shirt, a well-worn Twisted Sister that the kid had been ‘gifted’ from the concert. “Let me go change—”

“Nope, what you’re wearing is perfect. Let’s go.” Johnny grabbed an imported beer from the fridge.

xxxxxxxxxx

The room was huge and the original bank of switches Johnny had flicked on was blinding from the overhead monstrous chandelier. He played with the switches until the room was illuminated by sconces running up two sides of the room.

Johnny stuck a chair under the double doors’ knobs. “Just so we don’t get interrupted.”

“Interrupted,” Robby smirked, “doing what? Ballroom dancing?”

Even Miguel laughed.

“Yuck it up guys,” Johnny huffed.

“Dad, this is worse than going to Mexico to find Miguel without a clue except what bus stop he got off at.”

“We got him, didn’t we?” Johnny grunted as he moved one table closer to the wall, joining a group of tables already there. He turned to the boys and stomped on the ground. “No mats, but it’s carpeted.”

“To do what?” Miguel questioned.

Johnny rolled his eyes, never realizing how stupid these boys were. “LaRusso and I—well we both agreed we should’ve—”

“Should’ve what?” Robby shook his head. “Beaten the crap out of each other—‘cause I’m not thinking—”

Johnny pointed to Miguel. “You’re pissed at Robby.”

“He put me in a coma and I had to relearn how to walk. There are days it still hurts. So yeah,” Miguel snarled, “I’m pissed at him.”

Johnny turned his attention to Robby, who stood staring at him as if he’d lost his ever, lovin’ mind. Which maybe he had. But this anger and hate between the two boys was so close to the damn surface, Johnny would rather a controlled eruption instead of another school, end up in juvie or ICU unruly free for all. “Robby—”

“I promised I would never throw the first punch,” he said simply, defiantly crossing his arms. “Unlike some people, I don’t break my promises.”

Words aimed right for Johnny and Robby scored a direct hit.

“Can’t say I made the same promise, isn’t that right, Sensei?” Miguel stated with an obnoxious smirk on his face.

Wide eyed Robby stared at Johnny not in anger but hurt and betrayal. He dropped his arms, straightened his shoulders and took up a fighting stance.

Miguel mimicked Robby’s stance and made the first move.

They fought fair.

They were evenly matched.

They were resilient and headstrong.

Miguel was angry.

Furious.

Unrelenting in his attacks.

Robby was focused.

The minutes ticked by. Johnny moved closer, hovering, as they traveled the room in some macabre dance. Robby was--

Johnny studied his son and with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, Robby was no longer fighting. Defense only. True Miyagi-do technique. Doing a damn amazing job of preventing any punch from hitting its mark. Any kick from making contact.

Realization dawned on Miguel as well, and he increased his attack, his strikes, getting sloppy, awarding Robby the perfect opportunity to take advantage, but he didn’t.

Robby knew Miguel was angry, pissed. Filled with uncontainable hatred towards him and Robby was going to let Miguel beat the shit out of him because in his son’s fucked up sense of justice, juvie hadn’t been enough punishment for Robby.

Miguel was going to snuff out his hatred and anger by using his son as a human punching bag.

“Whoa, guys, Johnny yelled, giving warning before he stepped between them. He wasn’t fast enough and he grimaced in sympathy with Robby’s inability to block Miguel’s tornado kick. Flying backwards, Robby’s head connected with a resounding thud to the corner of a table. He lay panting, chest heaving.

“Miguel!” Johnny shouted, his voice echoing in the vastness of the room.  

Miguel was in the zone, oblivious to Johnny’s panic. He scooped a chair that had been stacked on the table Robby’s head had come in contact with and raised it over his head, aiming for—

Johnny watched Robby just close his eyes.

Johnny reached Miguel the exact second the boy tossed the chair away and fell to his knees. “I’m sorry,” he stuttered, “I never would’ve hit you—”

Johnny stayed in the background.

Waiting.

Listening.

Hoping.

Praying.

Robby struggled to sit up. And there it was, the words Miguel wanted to hear, the ones Robby hadn’t been able to say. “I never meant to—at school I was so angry. At you.  My dad I’m sorry. And I know it’s just a word and I can’t give you back what you lost. I would never ask you to forgive me, because I can’t forgive myself, but I’m sorry. So damn sorry—”

“Shit, you’re bleeding.”

Robby touched his eye, the fingers coming away tinged in red. “Yeah—” he gave a crooked smile, “Point Diaz.”

“No, you idiot,” Miguel said with controlled exasperation, pointing. “Your head.”

Johnny saw what Miguel noticed, a not so tiny trickle of blood snaking down Robby’s neck. Robby touched the spot on his head that had kissed the table. “Oh, shit,” he said, when his hand came back coated in blood.

xxxxxxxxxx

At least the hate was gone from Miguel’s gaze when he looked at Robby, replaced with a sick sorta worry,

“I’m okay,” Robby attempted to assure him.

“Don’t move.” His father’s strong hand on his shoulder kept his ass firmly planted on the carpeting. “How many fingers am I holding up.”

Robby grabbed the hand his dad was waving in front of him. “Three.” Robby closed his eyes against the wave of dizziness, pretty sure that wasn’t the right answer.

“Can you stand?”

Robby started to nod but thought better of it. “Yeah.”

His dad on one side. The table for support on the other and he was upright with a groan before being hit by a tidal wave of nausea and he puked without dignity on Diaz who was within touching distance of Robby.

“Oh gross,” Miguel groaned. “Really, Robby?”

“Zip it, Diaz.”, his father said tightening his hold around Robby’s waist, “Nothing a shower won’t take care of.”

xxxxxxxxxx

“Watcha looking at?” Johnny hissed at the two people exiting the elevator as the three of them waited to board.

“Are they okay?” The man asked, jutting his chin at Robby and Miguel.

“Do they look okay?”

“No, they look like they need a doctor.”

“Great observation.” Johnny chimed. “Are you a doctor? If you aren’t, then get the fuck outta the way.”

“What happened?” the man asked.

“The truth,” Johnny quipped. “My son,” he tapped Robby on the shoulder, “kicked my favorite student and almost whatever person over the balcony in a school fight. So, they still had a shitload of anger issues, so I let them work it out.”

The man and his partner remained silent, staring at the trio as they entered the elevator.

“Have a nice day,” Miguel said waving as the door slid shut.

 Both times Robby threw up in the elevator he missed Diaz and thankfully, Johnny.

“You should’ve thrown up on those idiots,” Johnny commented, throwing a heavy arm around Robby’s shoulder

*Really, Sensei,” Miguel made air quotes,” ‘my favorite student and almost whatever person’.”

“Yeah,” Johnny agreed, “we have to work on that.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Miguel was in the shower. Robby could hear the running water. All the lights, save one lamp in the corner were off.

He was sitting on the couch, a pure white (not anymore) bath towel was covering the back where his head was resting. “Thanks, Dad,” Robby sighed, risking opening his eyes. “Sucks.”

“Yup. Concussions suck,” his dad agreed, touching his knee to get his attention. “Feel like you wanna vomit anymore?”

“No. I just want to sit here and die.”

“Not on my watch. I’ve sorta grown attached to you.”

Robby chuckled then groaned. “Took you long enough.”

“Funny, kid, real funny.”

“Truth.” Robby could feel himself drifting, making a futile attempt to shuck off his father’s hand resting on his thigh.

“No sleeping. Not yet. Concussion no no. Can you lean forward I want to check out—”

“The gaping, oozing blood and brains gash on my head, sure.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny knew from experience that any cut to the head bled like a mother fucker.

Robby closed his eyes and leaned forward, not a lot, but enough to give Johnny access to view the damage. The table had left about a six inch gash, not deep and the bleeding had already slowed. “You’ll live.”

“Thanks—” slowly Robby pushed himself off the couch, and swayed, but stayed upright.

“Um—where are you going?”

He tugged at his shirt. “I want to shower—"

“Yeah, no,” Johnny pulled Robby back down to the couch. “I’ll get you a clean shirt. Because,” Johnny counted the reasons off on his fingers. “First, Miguel’s still showering off your puke, second, don’t need you faceplanting on ceramic tiles, breaking yourself more than you’re already broken.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Miguel was coming out of the bathroom, just as Johnny was on his way to the bedroom.

“Ouch,” Johnny commented at the bruises on Miguel’s arms and face. He grimaced. “Your mom—” Johnny touched his own face.

“Going to kill one or all of us?” Miguel agreed.

“Your father is already on her shit list let’s lie and say it was him.”

“You want me to lie and say my father hit me?”

“Okay when you say it like that it sucks. We’ll work on the story.”

“Where’s Robby?”

“On the couch. Feeling like crap.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Johnny touched Miguel’s shoulder. “I know you didn’t. Robby knows you didn’t—”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny looked at his two kids sitting on the couch. With a shake of his head, Johnny went to the bathroom and emptied the bathroom garbage pail onto the floor. “I’m going to get some ice,” he announced walking past them on his way to the door.

“Why not the ice bucket?” Miguel asked.

“Not for drinks, Diaz, this,” he said raising the ice bucket above his head, “is for you and Robby.”

“Oh,” Miguel huffed a laugh.

“Do not,” Johnny ordered, pointing the garbage pail at Miguel, “under any circumstances allow Robby to go to sleep.”

xxxxxxxxxx

“Sorry about your head and the table,” Miguel said the second sensei closed the door in his wake.

Robby turned his head to face Miguel. “Sorry about kicking you over the balcony.”

“Hey, man, you already apologized.”

Robby shrugged, sighing. “Wanted to make sure you heard me. Believed me.”

There was silence, Robby closed his eyes and for a minute or so, Miguel thought he was gathering his thoughts. “Don’t go to sleep,” Miguel shook his arm, “your dad said—”

Robby opened his eyes and turned to stare at the ceiling. “Do you do everything the man asks you to do?”

“If I want to live, yeah,” Miguel admitted. “Can I ask you why you let me—”

Miguel wasn’t sure if he was pissed or relieved at the interruption when Sensei returned with the overflowing garbage pail dropping ice cubes on his way to the couch. He placed the pail on the coffee table, dug into his back pocket and pulled out a handful of plastic garbage bags. “Stole them from a cleaning cart in the hallway.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Miguel accepted the oversized ice pack with a lopsided smile, the cut in the corner of his lip preventing a full out smile. “Thanks.” He pressed the ice filled plastic bag to his cheek with a satisfied ‘ahhh’.

His gaze slid to Robby, who was listing to the side, leaning against the arm of the couch losing his grip on his ice pack.

“Anyone hungry?” Johnny asked with a clap of his hands

Robby groaned. “Please don’t mention—”

Johnny tsk’d and mouthed ‘burgers and fries’ to Miguel, who nodded in agreement.

xxxxxxxxxx

When the food arrived, Robby had complained about the smell. Threatened to vomit so with deference on not having to shower yet again, Miguel suggested he and Sensei move to the table rather than the couch to eat.

With the promise of Advil, Robby, from the couch, had forced down three bites of plain, no butter or syrup pancakes Sensei had ordered.

Now. Dinner eaten. Miguel and Sensei were sitting on the couch, legs stretched out and resting on the coffee table. Watching some Bruce Willis movie. Robby was sleeping, snoring, curled into his corner of the couch, head resting on a pillow on Sensei’s lap.

Miguel wasn’t even sure Sensei was aware he was petting, gently stroking Robby’s hair. “Is it okay,” he asked tentatively, “that he’s sleeping?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay up, wake him in about two hours, make sure he remembers his name, yadda yadda.”

“Sensei,” Miguel took a breath, exhaled then took another one, trying to find balance—

“Just say it, Diaz,” Johnny said, his voice a whispered shout.

“Robby stopped fighting me, halfway through. In the ballroom, he just gave up?”

“No, Miguel. Robby didn’t give up. He was giving you what you wanted and what he felt you deserved. Retribution for you. Punishment for him.”

Miguel remained silent, pondering Sensei’s words. “And I kept going after him. Again. And again.”

“Anger will do that. Anger had put you in a coma. In a wheelchair. Robby knew you needed to feel the anger he’d felt for you to forgive him. To accept his apology. And my stupid son never believed juvie was enough punishment for what he had done to you.”

“I’m really sorry, Sensei,” Miguel’s voice was thick with emotion he was fighting to keep under control. He held his breath when Sensei tugged his head down and kissed him. Miguel was unable to think of anything to say, nothing to fix this screwed up situation. "It'll be better now," he said.

Johnny glanced over. "Do you believe that? Or are you trying to convince yourself?"

"No," Miguel said, his gaze stealing down to Sensei's hand where it still rested on Robby's head. "I'm convinced, though pissed that Robby--"

"Let you use him as a punching bag?"

"He needed me to be consumed by anger. And hate. And to lose all balance. Like he did at the school fight. Finally understanding the fault was as much mine as it was anyone who participated. Countless scenarios with different outcomes. Robby and I were just the ones who--" Miguel studied his hands in his lap. "Yeah, the thing between me and him? Will be better now." Miguel didn't miss Sensei’s slightest of smiles as a reflection of his answer.

"Do me a favor, Miguel," Johnny tossed his cell phone onto his lap. "Set an alarm for like two hours, okay."

"Just in case we fall asleep."

"Yeah, need to make sure Robby's brains, the one that he actually puts to use when he's not being an idiot trying to teach my favorite and very important, also an idiot student a lesson, haven't leaked out the hole in his head."

xxxxxxxxxx

The phone rang and Johnny patted the couch, trying to locate the damn thing. “Thank you,” he said when Miguel handed it to him. Johnny checked the time and number  before answering.

“Hello, LaRusso.”

//”Hey, Johnny I tried calling Robby’s phone, but he’s not answering.//

Johnny glanced down, Robby was down for the count, drooling and still snoring. “It’s probably charging somewhere,” he lied, shrugging his shoulders when Miguel gave him a ‘what the fuck’ look.

//”According to news reports, all the roads will be open by tomorrow. So, you can head on home.”//

“Home,” Johnny repeated, “great news.”

//”How are the boys?”//

“LaRusso wants to know how you are Miguel?” One eye closed, his cheek red and swollen. A split lip. Some weird bruising on his neck. “He’s fine. Aren’t you, Diaz?”

Miguel rolled his eyes and gave him a thumbs up.

//”Robby? Is he doing any better?”//

“Yeah, Robby’s doing better.” And he had been until today. In the ballroom, but that was way too much knowledge to give to LaRusso.

//”Can I talk to him?”//

“Him, who?”

//”Robby.”//

“He’s sleeping.”

//”Sleeping? Johnny it’s barely 8 pm.”//

“We had a busy day. All of us. The three of us. Right, Diaz?”

“Very busy,” Miguel said loudly. Loud enough for LaRusso to hear.

//”Are they getting,”// LaRusso whispered, //”along?”//

“Best buddies.”

//”Let me talk to Robby.”// he insisted not trying to mask his disbelief.

“I told you he’s sleeping.

//”Bullshit.’’//

“Here,” Johnny said shoving the phone at Miguel. “Tell LaRusso that Robby’s sleeping and you’re now best buds.”

“You want me to lie?” Diaz whispered.

“Go for good friends. How’s that?”

Miguel’s conversation with LaRusso became background noise as Johnny gently shook Robby awake.

“Robert Swayze Keene,” he mumbled not really awake or aware. “We’re somewhere in—” he squeezed his eyes shut “—California in a Honeymoon suite. Can I go back to sleep?”

Johnny grabbed the phone from Diaz mid sentence. “LaRusso wants to talk to you. Just tell him I woke you up and you had a busy day making friends with Miguel.”

Robby squeaked his eyes opened. “What?”

Johnny stuck the phone in Robby’s hand.

“Hi, Mr. LaRusso.” Robby held the phone from his ear as LaRusso started to talk.

//”Are you okay? Your dad said you were sleeping.”//

“Yeah busy day. Have a little bit of a headache—”

Johnny adamantly shook his head mouthing the word ‘no’.

“Miguel and I talked it out. We’re good now,”

//”Really?”//

LaRusso was an annoying, persistent, dog with a bone, pain in the ass on a good day, and with a concussion, yeah coherent conversation just wasn’t going to happen. Johnny grabbed the phone from Robby’s grasp. “Gotta go, LaRusso. Want to give Robby a warm washcloth for his head—and before you even ask. It’s just a headache. Lotsa pussy emotion today. Words and everything. Emoting and shit. Gave the poor kid a headache. I’ll call you when we’re on the road.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny tossed the last of their shit into the trunk. "Ready?" Both he and Miguel turned to stare at Robby who was squinting against the bright sunshine.

"Your call," Miguel offered magnanimously, without a hint of derisiveness, anger or sarcasm. "Shot gun or back seat?"

"Back seat," Robby mumbled.

Johnny thrust an extra plastic bag at him, "just in case."

Robby took it without complaint, and then approached Miguel. "Here's my phone. Fully charged. Code is," he paused, Johnny realized as if he was handing over state secrets, "0913. Enjoy." Robby opened the rear door, then backed up to Miguel. "Don't answer any of Tory's text," there was no heat in his warning, "she'll probably think you murdered me if you do, to be safe, I'd keep quiet. I called her last night, I think, sometime. Told her we would be on her way home--"

"Okay,” Miguel hesitated. "Thanks?"

With the plastic bag, Robby literally crawled into the back seat and face planted against the leather.

With a reluctant sigh Johnny closed the back door.

"He doesn't have his seatbelt on," Miguel pointed out, concerned.

Johnny laughed, "I'm sure the way he feels now, that's the least of his worries."

Miguel's face fell, crestfallen. Guilty.

Johnny spoke to Miguel over the roof of the car. “Between you and Robby—it’s better. Enough. He’ll be fine by later today—” Johnny held up a hand to stop the inevitable questions because Diaz had never been able to take anything at face value. “I know, believe me. And I also know in years to come you and Robby will laugh about this. Coma. Shoulder. Wheelchair. Concussion—"

“Oh, like you and Mr. LaRusso laugh about the crane kick?” Miguel smirked.

“Get in the car, Diaz,” Johnny rolled his eyes, deciding he hated teenagers.

xxxxxxxxxx

Traffic was slow, everyone had the same brilliant idea and left at the same time. Great. The radio was playing the best of the eighties, lower than usual. “What are you doing?” Johnny asked as Miguel turned for like the hundredth time in the twenty miles (which equaled ninety minutes of travel) to peer into the back seat.

“Are you sure Robby’s okay?”

“First, guilt is not a good look for you, honest. Second, puking and wanting to sleep your life away are a side effect of a concussion. Robby perfected the upchucking, as well you know, now he’s working on the sleeping.”

“But he’s not snoring.”

“Fine. Alright.” Johnny put on his blinker, ignored the protesting horns of the cars he cut off and proceeded up the exit ramp. He pulled into a fucking Starbucks of all places and turned off the car. “Go ahead, wake him.”

“I’m not waking him.”

“You were worried about him.”

“Shouldn’t you be worried about him? You’re his father.”

“Of course I am but—”

“But what?” Miguel insisted.

“Fine.” Johnny got out, slammed the door and jerked opened the back door. “Hey, kid,” he shook Robby’s leg, narrowly missing getting kicked in the family jewels by his son’s reaction.

“Go. Away.” Robby groaned.

“See Miguel, I told you he wasn’t dead.”

Robby pushed himself into a sitting position. “Miguel wanted me dead?”

“No, Robby, Sensei, tell him I don’t want him dead. I was—” Miguel stuttered over the word.

“Concerned,” Johnny finished with a know-it-all smile. “Miguel was worried about you.”

“Me?” Robby rubbed his eyes, gazing out the window. “Oh, can we get Starbucks?”

“Oh, look squirrel,” Johnny mumbled under his breath ignoring Miguel’s ‘huh’ raise of his eyebrows. “Concussions scrambles the brain for a time—no attention span.”

“Not getting it, Sensei,” Miguel stated slowly.

“Never mind,” Johnny said, “let’s go get coffee.”

xxxxxxxxxx

“Thirty-five fucking dollars for coffee? One pump or two. I’ll give you—” Johnny made an obscene jerking off motion with his hand. “And two slices of pound cake?”

“Thank you, Sensei,” Miguel said with a smile, slurping the last of his drink through the straw. “for the visual.”

“And your coffee, and I use that word lightly, has whipped cream. Coffee should not have whipped cream. That’s a pussy drink. And what the fuck—Robby got a pink drink?”

Johnny was ranting (as he had been for the last hour) but Robby was dead to the world two sips into his drink, he’d relegated it to the cup holder and was now sleeping.

“Are you happy, Miguel? He’s snoring. Turn the damn music up.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Miguel texted his mother from Robby’s phone, explaining they were truly on their way home. He was sorry for so many things and he loved her and Yaya very much.

Sam was next. He was honest with her about what he’d found in Mexico. What he’d lost. He smiled at Sensei and stole a furtive glance into the backseat, and what he’d gained. Emoji’s were littered among his words because as tough as Samantha LaRusso presented to the world, she was a closet sentimentalist.

He ignored Robby’s warnings, found Tory’s contact information and sent her a text. Taking the coward’s way out, hiding behind technology, he apologized for everything. Confiding in her that her boyfriend was a good guy, an asshole at times, but someone, maybe someday he would be able to consider a friend.

And last, but not least, he sent a text to Mr. LaRusso. Confirming three things. They were on their way home. Robby had been sleeping last night. Yeah, they were sorta, kinda, maybe on their way to being able to tolerate each other.

Then he turned the phone off and stuck it in the cup holder, next to his empty Starbucks cup. Miguel didn’t want to see anyone’s responses, not now. Maybe later.

“How much longer?”

“Awhile.”

“Can I drive?”

“Maybe.”

Miguel sighed.

“What?” Sensei asked, indignantly. “I didn’t say no.”

“Maybe, in parent speak usually means ‘not on your life’. My mom always said ‘maybe’ when she really meant ‘no’.”

“Is ‘we’ll see’ a better alternative?”

“Does it mean yes?”

“No,” Johnny continued, “it means ‘we’ll see’.”

“Then no, it’s not a better alternative, Sensei.” Frustrated, Miguel crossed his arms. “I bet if Robby—”

Johnny’s laugh was bitter, harsh and loud. “No, that would be a definite ‘no’. "The kid was barely able to walk a straight line into Starbucks do you think I'm stupid enough to--" he held up a hand, "don't answer that--to let Robby drive a car that's worth more than your mother or I make in a year?" 

"No," Miguel mumbled.

“You have a job, Dad?" Robby asked from the back seat. 

"Wiseass. Yes, I have a job,” he mimicked in a sing song voice, “I'm a sensei--" Johnny let his voice trail off thinking maybe he should be showing some parental concern for his concussed son. “Hey, how are you doing back there?" 

xxxxxxxxxx

How was he doing? Robby remembered, once, having a migraine, he must've been around twelve, the pain had been severe enough that even now, five years later to have left an indelible mark on his pain receptors. Yeah, this, was ten times worse. "Better," he lied. 

"How's your stomach?" Miguel asked, his face appearing between the seats. 

Robby smiled, "don't worry, I'm not going to puke on you. Sorry about that by the way." 

“Sorry about kicking you into a table,” Miguel apologized.

“Sorry about kicking you over a balcony—” Robby continued.

“Sorry about dislocating your shoulder,” Miguel finished.

Robby cringed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as his father’s “Quiet” reverberated in the car and in his head. His dad cursed, then apologized, Robby waited until the pain reached a tolerable level before answering with a sarcastic, “thanks for that. I’ll remember to reach that earth shattering decibel level next time you have a hangover.”

Miguel snorted.

“Watch it, Diaz, I know where you live,” his dad warned.

“So, with no Miyagi-do and Eagle Fang (stupid name but Robby would never admit that to his father, especially in front of his favorite student) what’s next?”

“LaRusso was working on something or working with someone, I guess we’ll find out when we get home. Right?”

Miguel nodded like an enthusiastic puppy. “Definitely,” then he turned, his attention back to Robby. “What about you?”

“Me?” Robby leaned his head back and stared at the roof. “Not sure either one of those dojos would welcome me with open arms. I’m person non gratis pretty much everywhere. Told Silver I was done with karate. Maybe I am.” Robby knew that wasn’t true, but it was easier to walk away from something than be rejected. In his life, he’d had enough practice with that. Truthfully, Robby just fucking wanted balance and he was fighting so hard to stay upright, but he kept falling off the damn tree.

“Robby, I can talk to Hawk—”

“Diaz,” his dad’s voice was surprisingly soft, “let’s save this conversation for when we’re home and Robby is—”

“Thanks,” Robby interrupted, then flung his forearm over his arm to block out the sun and to hide the emotions in danger of leaking out his eyes.

xxxxxxxxxx

"I think he's sleeping again, Sensei."

"Again, sleeping is better than puking up his guts, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, but--" Robby had always been energy. Obnoxious. Sarcastic. Nervous energy. Full of movement. Quirks. Now he was just still and silent (well except for the snoring) and his lack of motion was making Miguel crazy, with a side order of guilt. A super-sized side order of guilt. "I didn't mean--"

"Diaz, Robby is well aware you didn't mean to tornado kick him into the table."

"Is he really quitting karate?"

Sensei sighed, put on his blinker and changed lanes, concentrating on merging into the moving traffic before he answered. "Robby has pretty much been screwed over by every Sensei. Kreese disappeared off the face of the earth. Silver beat the crap outta him. LaRusso kicked him to the curb, and I suck so much as a father, Robby can't see past my shortcomings to even consider me being his sensei."

“That’s kinda sad,” Miguel commiserated.

“You’re right,” Sensei agreed. “It is, but I’m working on fixing my fuck ups and LaRusso, he’s trying. Kreese and Silver, I’m just glad I got him back.”

“Sensei,” Miguel said softly, “you didn’t do anything, you know that, right? Robby did it on his own.”

There was silence, the only sound was the music and Robby snoring. The lack of conversation was awkward and uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel apologized, enough though he knew he was right.

“No, you’re one hundred percent correct. I fucked up by leaving him there. He’s a kid and I allowed him to —I’m trying to do better.”

“You’re doing great, Sensei. Honest. Two months ago the three of us in a car or a hotel room—

“Honeymoon Suite,” Johnny interjected.

“Honeymoon Suite,” Miguel echoed. “An Audi. There would’ve been blood shed. The makings of a Stephen King book. A horror movie.”

“Oh a karate horror movie. Do you think Hollywood would be interested in a horror movie about karate?”

“You and Mr. LaRusso would be vampires—”

“Vampires don’t age, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Perfect. So, me and LaRusso join forces and battle the evilest vampire of all times-Silver.”

“Which is weird,” Miguel said grabbing the idea and running with the muse, “Silver bullets kill vampires.

Johnny laughed “His fucking name would be a play on words. And me and LaRusso turn all our students into little tiny, karate vampire warriors,” Johnny nodded enthusiastically.

“Umm, not exactly sure how I feel about becoming a vampire. My mom and Yaya--”

“Killjoy,” Sensei mumbled, but at least now he was smiling.

xxxxxxxxxx

Two hours later, or two hours closer to Reseda, whichever way you wanted to look at it, Johnny had reached his limit and got off at the next exit. They had about another seven hours before home, he was starving. Needed to pee. And he needed Robby upright and making semi coherent conversation.

Hallelujah, though Johnny contained the congratulatory fist bump in the air as he pulled into the mostly empty parking lot of iHop.

“Thank god!” Miguel’s words burst forth on a rush of air as he opened the car door. “I gotta pee. I’ll meet you inside.”

“We’ll be—” Johnny started to yell after him, but Diaz made it through the entrance to the restaurant in record time

Robby had pulled himself into a sitting position by the time Johnny opened the back door.

Johnny bit back a grimace. The bruises on his face were in stark contrast to how washed out Robby looked but thankful for small things, his eyes were clearer and more focused than before.

“Before you ask,” Robby blinked slowly in Johnny’s direction, “I’m fine. The headache has settled to a dull roar. I’m hungry, thirsty and I have to pee. If you do not get out of my way, you’re going to have to explain to Mr. LaRusso why there is piss in the back seat.” He glanced at the front seat. “What happened to Miguel?”

xxxxxxxxxx

“You’re hovering,” Robby commented irritably, shaking off Johnny’s hand. “I’ve been peeing on my own since I was two—”

“Three, actually,” Johnny interjected.

“Whatever,” Robby spit back. “I can do this—”

Johnny opened the door to the restaurant, ignoring Robby’s huff of impatience.

“Bathroom’s that way,” Miguel said, pointing to the back.

“Do not follow me,” Robby ordered, stomping off in the direction Miguel indicated.

Johnny was grateful that Miguel waited until he was out of earshot, but the second he opened his mouth, Johnny was quicker. “Puking. Sleepiness, Irritability. Yup, Robby’s covering all the basis.

They waited to be seated until Robby returned and like idiots the three of them stood by the booth waiting to see who was going to sit by whom, reminding Johnny of more than his fair share of bad dates.

He made the first move.

Surprised, and maybe more than a little hurt when both boys chose to sit opposite him.

xxxxxxxxxx

He and Diaz had their usual bacon, eggs, hashbrowns, toast and coffee and made not one comment over Robby’s dry Belgium waffles and Coke.

“Both of you are returning worse than when you left—that’s just a marginal step down for you, Robby—”

“Ha. Ha,” his son sneered as he ripped off a corner of waffle.

Johnny ignored him and just continued, “your mom, Diaz, is going to wonder—”

“More coffee?” the waitress interrupted.

“Sure,” Johnny held out his cup for a refill.

“Are your boys okay?” this waitress was older, in her forties with almost a motherly, non accusatory tone. “It looks like they got beat up real bad.”  

Johnny smiled. “Thank you for your concern—”

“We’re okay,” Robby answered, actually smiling at the woman, bruised and battered, his son was still a lady killer, “honest.” He jerked his thumb at Miguel. “He and I had to finish something that started over thirty-five years ago.”

The waitress turned to Johnny, who gave her a one shouldered shrug. “Out of the mouth of babes.” His answer was as obtuse as Robby’s but the three people at the table understood the inference perfectly.

Johnny waited until she walked away before continuing. “Any idea of what we can tell the adults?”

“The truth?” Robby asked.

“That I encouraged you and Diaz to beat the crap out of each other—”

“We were going to do that anyway,” Miguel answered.

“So, I will tell your mother, your yaya and Mr. LaRusso that I put you in a room. Locked you in and had a WWE Smackdown with adult supervision? I’m thinking that’s child abuse and I will get taken away in handcuffs.”

“Karate, not wrestling, Sensei.”

“I know that, Diaz, I was just making an analogy.”

Robby glanced up, “oooh big word, Dad.”

“Punk,” Johnny snorted, tapping Robby’s plate. “Finish so we can get on the road.”

“Two to one, Dad,” Robby said with a mature finality that made Johnny’s heart skip a beat. “Majority rules.”

“Robby’s right—”

Never in a million years had he ever believed the two boys, battle worn and weary, would agree on anything.

“Okay, as long as you can come up with bail money or at least testify on my behalf,” Johnny allowed the sentence to trail off as Robby and Miguel faced each other and smiled. That alone was worth jail time.

“You got a deal, just as long as you let me drive,” Miguel said.

“Hey, what about me?” Robby looked up mid dissection of the waffle.

“No,” Johnny and Miguel yelled in unison.

xxxxxxxxxx

The day was sunny, bright and the road free of hazards. Seven hours left on their journey back home. To his family. To Sam. To his friends. Miguel sighed deeply, to the shattered pieces of karate.

The music on the radio was low, but more current and Robby, riding shotgun, though his eyes were closed, was moving his leg in time with the beat.

Sensei in the back seat had hesitated, voiced his objections, quite loudly that Robby should be in the back, to which Robby had answered his dad over the roof of the car with a smile and a middle finger salute before sliding into the front seat and slamming the door.

“Are you going to go back to school when you get home.”

“No,” Robby blew out a huff of exasperation. “School? Too many people hate me as it is, I’m not going to tempt fate by showing my face. Still on probation—"

“Gotcha. I’m sorry though. My mom could possibly talk to the school, like Mrs. LaRusso did for Tory—”

“No. No.” Robby hurriedly replied. “Thanks, but it’s okay. I’m working towards my GED and I’m okay with going that route. Honest.”  

“Any thoughts about after?” Miguel prodded, keeping his eyes glued to the road.

“After? After what? I’m just happy to know I have a roof over my head and I know where my next meal is coming from, even if it’s fried bologna. That’s enough for me for now. Sorry if that isn’t the answer you were looking for.”

Sensei had always alluded to how bad he’d been as a father, and had sometimes let slip when he’d had one beer too many about Robby’s mother never winning mother of the year award. Except for his time in Mexico, Miguel had never had to worry about day to day survival. Food. Clothing. A place to sleep. People who loved him unconditionally. “My Yaya is a fantastic cook. I’ll make sure fried bologna—”

“There’s nothing wrong with fried bologna,” Sensei yelled from the back seat. “But, we’ll go food shopping when we get home—”

“I’m good with peanut butter and jelly, bread and cereal—” Robby’s reply was soft. Tentative. Almost as if he asked for too many things, Sensei would renege on what? Fatherhood?

“If you’re good when we go shopping, I’ll even throw in a bag of chips. Not m & m’s though.

“Why not m & m’s, Sensei?” Miguel couldn’t resist.

“Robby was horrible to take to the store.”

“What, on the two times you took me?”  

Sensei ignored him and continued. “Once you and I went to the store because your mom wasn’t feeling well, and you wouldn’t stop screaming.” He paused thinking. “You must’ve been like three and I grabbed a bag of candy off the shelf, m & m’s a large one mind you, and both of us finished it by the time I was done shopping. Tossed the empty bag before we hit the cashier. Payback was you puked all over me when I unbuckled you and took you from the kid’s seat in the shopping cart to your car seat. Whatever they fuckin’ dye those candies with does not come out of clothes.”

xxxxxxxxxx

“Robby?”

“Yeah?” Robby’s voice was low and sluggish, almost as if he were on the cusp of sleep.

“I can talk to Hawk if you want.”

“No, I got this. I must own up to the shit I pulled.”

“Hawk isn’t an angel—”

“The crap he did, that’s on him. I’m just responsible for my own mistakes,” Robby said, the familiar sharp edge to his voice that Miguel knew all too well. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Miguel, take the next exit, okay?” Sensei interjected. “Three hours is my backseat limit.”

Miguel pulled into the 7-11, parked and turned the car off, exhaling. Driving still wasn’t second nature and he was grateful Sensei made the call before Miguel did.

Sensei got out first, stretching his legs, shaking his arms. Digging into his pocket, he pulled out a ten and two fives. “Go get yourself and Robby something to snack on.

“Not m & m’s?” Miguel chuckled, plucking the money from Sensei’s fingers.

“Funny. No. Pretzels. Granola bars. Water. Coke. I’ll be in there in a few minutes to get a coffee.”

“I can get you a coffee—”

“Sometimes you drink your coffee with whipped cream. No thanks, Diaz.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Two bags in hand, Miguel pushed opened the door with his shoulder, coming to an abrupt stop, the person behind him cursing before stepping around him.

The passenger side door of the Audi was opened Robby was sitting sideways, feet on the ground head hanging down, his arms crossed around his midsection. Sensei was squatting in front of him. A large hand resting on Robby’s knee. Sensei was speaking, hand traveling from Robby’s knee to the top of his head. There was a strange gentleness to their interaction and Miguel felt like a voyeur.

Sensei stood, using the opened door as support, kissing the top of Robby’s head before stepping away and opening the trunk.

Miguel exhaled slowly and continued to the car as if nothing had happened. He approached Sensei, who was rummaging through their duffle bags as if searching for something.

“Robby okay?”

“Yeah. Headache, looking for the fucking Advil.”

“I think the bottle is in with Robby’s stuff.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Robby was sitting in the back seat, his eyes pinched in pain, his breathing loud but slow and regulated. Finding balance.

“You should’ve said something, we would’ve stopped sooner.”

“I felt better,” Robby ground out, “until I didn’t.”

“I got some Coke and pretzels if you want.”

“Later,” Robby said. “Much later.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Coffee. Gas. And here they were on the last leg of their trip home.

Robby was in the back seat. Miguel relegated to shot gun status and Johnny made sure to change the station, back to the eighties. He heard Miguel sigh but paid no attention to his complaint.

“You’re comfortable telling your mother that you and Robby beat the crap outta each other?”

Miguel pulled down the visor, and glanced in the mirror, poking and prodding the bruises by his eye. His neck—“Yeah, I am.”

“Not going to endear your mom or your Yaya to Robby.”

“I’m done lying Sensei,” Miguel paused and if he wanted to continue the thought and Johnny waited, patiently, ready to listen like Robby had taught him.

“That’s it, Diaz?”

“Yeah, that’s it, I guess.”

Johnny reached over and grabbed the scruff of Miguel’s neck, squeezing. “I love you, you know.”

“I know.”

The hoarseness in Miguel’s voice blurred Johnny’s vision. “You’re lucky,” he said, drawing his hand back resting it on the top of the steering wheel. “Lotsa people think you’re worth loving.”

“I get it, Sensei, I do, and I understand now, I didn’t before.” There was a sadness in Miguel’s tone, that had never been there before. Ever.

“Robby had to fight his entire life to feel he was worth loving,” Johnny admitted. “Even now—”

“Enough, Sensei, okay. It’s better,” Miguel assured him, “You’re better. “

“I’m trying,” Johnny repeated with more conviction than he felt.

xxxxxxxxxx

Robby awoke about a half hour from home. Sights looked familiar and he felt slightly more human than before. “Hey,” he tried, his dry throat causing the single word to stick.

“He lives,” his father said. “Welcome back.”

“Here,” Miguel handed him a lukewarm bottle of water.

He drank half the bottle before coming up for air and thanking Miguel.

“Can’t wait to go home and sleep in my own bed,” his dad crowed.

“Yes, me too. My own pillow. Blanket,” Miguel joined in.

Robby remained silent, waiting for his dad to say something and he sat unsure if his father’s ignorance was a disappointment or true to form.

“I think the mattress in the second bedroom is okay for now. You’ll need a new bedframe and desk—nightstand. Lamp.”

“For me?” Robby hated how soft and needy he sounded.

“Who else would I be putting furniture in the room for? LaRusso?” Johnny shuddered, “now that would be a frightening thought.:

“Sensei, confusion is part of a concussion, remember,” Miguel reminded his dad.

“Right. Sorry. Yeah, for a week or two the bedroom is fine the way it is—”

“Thanks, Dad. A mattress, pillow and blanket is okay.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny honked as he pulled into the car park and the Diaz’s door flew open, but Carmen and Yaya stayed glued to the walkway. Waiting.

“Thank you—”

Johnny put up his hand, “No thanks needed, Diaz. Go hug the crap outta your family, okay.”

“Robby—”

“We’re cool, man.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny watched as Carmen and Yaya rushed to Miguel and nearly knocked him on his ass with their enthusiastic greetings. He was pretty damn sure, Robby saw it as well. They remained in the car, silent until the door to Miguel’s apartment closed.

“Come on, Robby. Time to go home.” Johnny opened his car door, slid out, gave the Audi a pat for a job well done before closing his door.

xxxxxxxxxx

Unceremoniously, Johnny dragged all their crap into his apartment and dumped it on the floor. He flopped down into the chair with a groan. It felt good to be home. With Robby. With Robby and Miguel kinda, sorta being friends.

“I’m going to go take a shower,” Robby grabbed his duffle and walked into the back.

“Leave the door opened,” Johnny yelled.

Robby backtracked. “What? I’m not a toddler.”

“No, you’re not,” Johnny agreed, “but you’re a concussed teenager, that I’d like to help in case you take a header in the bathroom.”

“Sensei, karate expert, you can always break down the door.”

“Two words--security deposit.”

Robby understood. “I’ll close the door, but not lock it.”

“Acceptable.” Johnny had another thought, “careful with the cut on your head. Blood sucks to get out of towels.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny was on his second beer when his cell rang.

“LaRusso, I was just going to call you to tell you we arrived safely—”

//”Why did I get charged additional monies for the hotel?”//

“Not a clue,” Johnny answered truthfully.

//”Beers from the fridge ring a bell?”//

“They charge you for that shit? Really?”

//”Room service I get. Restaurant fees, okay. Blood stain removal from the couch. I got charged for towels that had to be thrown out because of blood stains.”//

“Oh, yeah that’s kinda a funny story.”

//“Does it have anything to do with Miguel and Robby?”//

“Ummm, yeah? The outcome was a good one, though. Honest.”

//”I can’t. Tomorrow. Bring back my car. You can have the van back. Be prepared to tell me the entire story. Robby too. I want to see Robby,”// LaRusso demanded.

“Sure, okay. You can’t have him though.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny was finishing his second beer, feet on the coffee table when Robby shuffled into the living room and lowered himself onto the couch. "That bad?" Johnny asked with a raise of the Coors banquet.

"Whatever," Robby sneered.

"Should've thought of that before you let Miguel beat the--"

"No offense, but shut the fuck up, okay?"

"Shutting up. And no offense taken."

"Dad?"

Johnny remained silent.

"Dad?" Robby tried again.

"I thought I had to remain silent."

"Can I have a glass of water. Bottle of water. Something cold?"

Johnny finished the beer before standing. The bottle of OJ in the fridge had mold floating on the top. He filled a glass with half dozen frost bitten ice cubes and was just about to turn on the faucet for water when he remembered the bag from the 7-11. "Here you go. "Coke over ice."

"Thanks." Robby drank half, then rested his head on the back of the couch, closing his eyes, the half empty glass resting against his belly.

"I'm just gonna take this," Johnny said, removing the glass from Robby's grasp.

"Hey, what are you afraid that I'll spill this--" he touched the circular stain next to his leg, “and ruin the pristine esthetics of the couch?”

"Wiseass." Johnny put the glass on the coffee table. "I'll be right back, Miguel forgot to take his bag."

"Not going anywhere."

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny knocked on the door. Once. Twice, it opened suddenly just as his hand was raised for a third time.

“Johnny.”

“Carmen.”

Why the hell did she look pissed?. He brought her son back from Mexico. Saved him from the clutches of his evil father. “I brought Miguel’s stuff back.” Gently, he placed the duffle on the floor next to her. “How’s he doing?”

“I didn’t know Robby was going with you.”

Ahh there you go. “He’s my son, why would it have made a difference if he came or not.”

“Make a difference? Did you see Miguel’s face? The bruises on his body?”

“Of course I did. Did he tell you the reason why?”

“Robby was with you, is that not reason enough?”

Johnny exhaled slowly. “Go inside. Talk to your son. Listen to him, Carmen. Really, listen.”

“And, what are you going to do—”

“Sit right on this folding chair.” He opened the chair with a flick of his wrist. “while you’re listening. Go,” he encouraged with a wave of his hand, “pay attention to what Miguel is telling you.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny stood when he heard the soft snick of the apartment door.

“Miguel told me—what he did. What Robby did. Is he okay?”

Johnny reached up to wipe the tear from the corner of Carmen’s eye. “He’s fine. He will be fine. I didn’t know how else to handle their hatred. I didn’t want their lives to be poisoned, like mine and LaRusso’s. Miguel’s a good kid. You and your mom should be proud.”

“Robby is—”

“A good kid in spite of me, Carmen, not because of me, though I’m working on it.”

Carmen leaned into Johnny and instinctually, he placed his arms around her, resting his chin on her head.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For bringing Miguel back home. For healing what was broken between our boys—”

“They did that themselves. More mature than any of the adults,” Johnny smiled.

“Would you-you and Robby,” she corrected, “like to come for dinner tomorrow?”

“As long as Robby isn’t puking or sleeping, yes.”

xxxxxxxxxx

Johnny locked the door behind him. “Jeezus, Robby really?” His son had fallen asleep on the sofa, sitting up, his feet on the coffee table, which was now christened with the spilled glass of coke and ice cubes. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

He stomped to the kitchen, got a rag and began mopping up the mess, grumbling loudly, shoving Robby’s feet to the side.

“What?” Robby straightened up.

“You spilled the damn soda.” Johnny tossed the rag onto the counter.

“At least I didn’t mess up your couch.”

“Funny, kid. Barrel of laughs.”

“What are you doing back here? I thought you would stay over—” he pointed to the door. “The Diaz house. I mean I know you and his mom.”

“Are friends.”

“Sure,” Robby answered with a roll of his eyes.

Johnny sat on the couch next to Robby. “You’re my family. This is our home. Tonight this is where I belong.”

Robby made an exaggerated gagging sound.

“Too much?” Johnny asked.

“Maybe.” Robby pinched his thumb and pointer finger together, “just a little too much. But it was nice to hear, you know.”

“I know. Want to watch Iron Eagle?” Johnny asked pushing his luck.

“If you order me a quart of Wonton Soup,” Robby tossed the pillow on the arm of the couch and laid down.

xxxxxxxxxx

The coffee table was strewn with the remanent of their Chinese food delivery. Robby had pretty much demolished the soup except for a lone wonton bobbing in the container.

Robby was sleeping, Johnny covered him with the blanket from his bed and cleaned up the mess, like a good parent would do. He left the door opened as he dumped the trash and took his time strolling back into the apartment.

Johnny wasn’t Superman. He didn’t wear tights, God forbid, or have a cape that flapped in the breeze. He wasn’t out to save the world, just his little corner.

The end