Disclaimer: I own nothing, Dick Wolf owns everything. Okay, so even though I relate to Frank on the height issue, internally I think a lot more like Bobby.

Even as a child he'd felt sorry for Cain. His Sunday school teacher had lectured him sternly about the 'real' meaning of the story: Cain committed grievous sin by being lazy and selfish by not giving the best of his land, and then, instead of learning from his mistake he killed his brother out of jealousy. That was why God had to turn the land against him. There'd been no juice and cookies that day.

As he got older, he thought he understood more of Cain's motivation; if he had to have his perfect, smarter older brother rubbed in his face one more time, there were days he'd swore he wouldn't be responsible for his actions.

What had been the worst part was that he couldn't argue with them. Frank had the better grades and he never got in trouble with the teachers, or other students. Frank could do no wrong in the eyes of anyone, especially Dad:

"Hey! Sammy! This is my boy, Frank. He's going places, I'll tell you what. He's almost as smart as his old man, going to send him off to college in the fall. He got a big scholarship from Queens. He's going to become a doctor, or a scientist, really make something out of himself. Oh -- and this is Bobby."

They'd pegged him as a big dumb jock the minute he'd walked in the doors of his high school. The basketball coach had been on him during school registration to sign up for the team, and he had, because Frank couldn't play sports worth a shit.

He'd known he wasn't going to be able to compete with Frank when it came to academics. He always thought he understood what the teachers were talking about in class, but when it came to tests it all seemed to go out the window. The classes were boring too, he'd always find himself distracted by daydreams or doodles in his notebook.

So he'd joined the basketball team, the one thing Frank couldn't do out of the childish hope that 'Oh -- and this is Bobby' would change to, 'This is my boy, Bobby, basketball star'.

Except for that to happen, Dad would have had to actually come to a game. Mom was too sick to leave the apartment most days, Frank was too busy studying, and Dad was where he usually was: the track or the bar. After a half season of missed games he'd realized Dad was never going to come; he'd be there for Frank when he won another prize, but he'd always be too busy for Bobby.

The look Frank had given him when he told him he'd quit the squad; well, he'd felt the murderous fury that must have swept over Cain in that moment on the mountain. Who was Frank to judge him, to lecture him? Frank was perfect, how was he ever going to compete with that?

He wasn't, he realized… there was nothing he was going to be able to do that would ever put him within touching distance of Frank's pedestal. So he'd decided to fulfill everyone's expectations. He skipped class, he barely studied (when he wasn't deliberately trying to fail), he drank, he smoked, he partied with the older kids.

Their junior year he and Lewis finally got caught by the police; they'd been cocky, wandering the streets after midnight on a Sunday night, a couple of tall boys hidden discreetly in brown paper bags. Arrested and thrown in the back of a squad car for underage drinking.

It hadn't taken Lewis' parents ten minutes to come and get him, offering apologies to the officers and a blistering lecture to Lewis as they hauled him out the door.

Since it was his first (official) offense, Officer McGinley had said he wasn't going to charge him, but he was going to have to talk with his parents. His mother was having another one of her bad spells, and it really wasn't safe for her to be out this late at night in the city, so he'd given McGinley his father's phone number and waited. Dad would be pissed that he'd been called so late at night to come get him, he'd probably get a good ass kicking, but at least he wasn't having to bail him out…

…and he waited.

…and he waited.

McGinley must have eventually gotten hold of his father, but whatever they talked about McGinley hadn't looked very happy about it. His stomach had churned, trying to imagine what they had talked about as McGinley walked toward him.

"Have you got any other family who can come get you?"

"N-no, there's no one…"

"What about your mother?"

"She's too sick, she can't…"

McGinley made a sour face before grabbing him by the collar and marching him back out to the car and shoving him into the back seat. He'd been terrified that they were going to drive him out to Rikers or one of the juvie centers.

"You any good at school, kid?"

"…not really."

"How about sports? You look like a good basketball player…"

"…I hate sports."

He'd been stunned when the car rolled to a stop outside of his apartment building. Then even more so when McGinley whipped around and locked his icy blue eyes with his own:

"This is a one time deal, you hear me, I catch you running the streets again I'll book your ass faster than you can blink. And if you tell any of your buddies that McGinley's a softy, then I'll be on you like a fly on shit until you fuck up again," McGinley's eyes narrowed, to make sure he got the point loud and clear. "Your dad is a real son of a bitch, you know that? He told me I ought to just lock you up since you were probably going to be in Rikers before you turned twenty. You can either keep doing what you're doing and prove that bastard right, or you can straighten up and get your life on track. Join the army or something, since you're no academic. Now get into your bed before your mother realizes you're missing."

To be so blatantly written off and shaken him to the core, and without any better ideas he'd done exactly as McGinley suggested and joined the army straight out of high school.

It ended up being the best advice he'd ever been given. The military had given him structure he hadn't even known he'd craved. To be a good soldier he had to follow the rules, rules that were conveniently printed in a book. Rules that were followed to the letter by everyone from the five star general to the basic infantryman. No lies, no tricks, no games.

Basic training had been hell, but it was hell for everybody, nobody was perfect, nobody could be perfect. They were all just human, trying desperately to avoid the glare of their drill instructor.

The military had given him something to be good at and a career he loved. The military had introduced him to Special Agent Declan Gage. Declan Gage had given him psychology.

They'd just finished interrogating, and breaking, a suspect who finally admitted to killing six civilian staff members, when Declan had turned to him:

"They were wrong, you know, your family, your teachers. Underneath that dumb cop façade of yours is a frighteningly intelligent man. You got into Parker's head almost as fast as I did. Maybe it was because they couldn't see brilliance that wasn't quantifiable, maybe they were trying to control you. Who knows? You should read up on theories of dysfunctional family dynamics sometime."

He had, because being so frankly analyzed by another person had been disturbing…

Reading Adult Children of Abusive Parents had been eye opening, to say the least. While he'd always known that he wasn't the only one with a crap family, and was, in fact, lucky in comparison to some others, to have it confirmed in print was oddly reassuring. Being the "problem child" in his family meant that he was the most normal of the group.

The need to understand himself and his family had sparked his interest in psychology, which made him a better police officer, and an excellent detective. Made even more effective by his ability to appear the "dumb cop" when the occasion called for it. It was amazing what people would say to someone they considered dim-witted. Their shock when their words are turned against them in the interrogation room by the "dumb cop" is well worth any indignity temporarily suffered.

It was surprisingly useless when it comes to dealing with his family, except as a balm for open wounds. Back home he's evolved from "problem child" to the unacknowledged "good child" seeing to his mother's needs because Frank, perfect, wonderful, brilliant Frank, has somehow slipped into the "mastermind" role to support his drug and gambling habits.

His mother viewed him as the prodigal son, yet there was little celebration of his return. It is a role that would have been better suited to Frank than to him; he's the older brother, barely suppressing his jealousy at his younger brother's triumphant return while his own faithfulness is ignored.

Frank sees him as another Jacob, stealing the birthright from Esau. Frank was supposed to be the successful one, the smart one, but somehow he's ended up a frequently homeless junkie. Frank's life as a "good child" probably paved the way to his downward spiral, so much responsibility at such a young age, what started out as a way to cut loose and have fun quickly became an obsession. As an addict still in the denial stages Frank can't see that all his problems are caused by his actions, it's so much easier to blame someone else instead.

He relates much more to Ishmael, the son cast out by Abraham and Sarah, the symbol of outcasts and orphans. The story's a bit twisted in his case, whereas Ishmael had two mothers, he has two fathers. Ishmael, the less favored child of two brothers. Judeo-Christian tradition sees Ishmael as a trouble maker, but Islamic tradition shows him as a child sent out into the harsh desert with his mother by God, struggling, surviving, and later building a future there, fathering the Arab people. Outcasts overcoming incredible odds with a little help from fate…

Call me Ishmael…. Wouldn't Nicole laugh?

Notes: References to Moby Dick, written by Herman Melville.

Adult Children of Abusive Parents is a real book, written by Dr. Steven Farmer. Published in 1989, Bobby would have been about 28.

In the book, Farmer discusses the five types of children that come out of dysfunctional family: "good children" who take over parental roles in the family; "problem children" who act out and are considered the source of the dysfunction within the family, when in reality they are probably the most emotionally healthy; "caretakers" who ensure that emotional needs of the family members are all met; "lost children" the quiet child of the family who's needs are often ignored; "mascots" who use comedy to divert attention from the dysfunction; and "masterminds" who manipulate the dysfunction to serve their own ends. A person's role in the family isn't fixed, they may embody several roles at once, or step into them over time.