I was inspired to write this moment because I thought it would be interesting to compare Bender's home life to the home life of his kid. I believe Bender and Claire do a much better job parenting than their own parents did. The daughter's name was taken from another fanfiction story, but I thought the name was perfect and couldn't make myself change it to anything else. See what you think of my story!

Disclaimer: I do not own the Breakfast Club

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"This is what you get in my house when you spill paint in the garage."

- John Bender, The Breakfast Club

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12-year-old Connie Bender sat in the den, watching the latest dumb show on TV. She was only half paying attention. It was the weekend, but her friends were all busy today so she was left bored with nothing to do.

"Connie, sweetie," her mother said from the kitchen. "Why don't you go help your father in the garage?"

Connie sighed dramatically and turned off the television. They had been repainting the garage for the past week and it still wasn't done. Knowing that she couldn't say no, she reluctantly got up and headed out to find her dad.

She found him at the top of the ladder with the paint roller, currently working on covering the ceiling with the same off-white color of the walls. "Hey Dad," Connie said.

He jumped at the sound of her voice, apparently unaware that she had come in. He cursed as the ladder dangerously rattled, and Connie ran over to steady the legs.

"Geez, kid! You tryin to kill me?"

"Sorry!" She called. "I just came in to see if you needed any help," she told him.

"Oh," he let out a breath, running a hand through his paint-covered hair. He nodded and swung down from the ladder. He gave her a goofy grin and handed her the paint roller. "Sure thing, kiddo. You can help. You get to do the fun part. Try not to break your neck painting the ceiling."

Connie shot him a dirty look and rolled her eyes. She took the roller and climbed up to where her dad had been on the ladder. The paint can sat on the top rung and she dipped the roller into it to get fresh paint. Her dad went over to the opposite end of the garage and started smoothing the edges of the walls with a smaller brush.

They worked in silence for a little while, with only the sounds of paint being added to the surfaces. Although Connie didn't love doing laborious work like this, she never minded spending time with her dad. She enjoyed his company. Even when they didn't say a word to each other, he held a comfort for her that she couldn't find anywhere else.

Connie had always admired her dad. He was a man of few words, but when he did speak he meant every one. There was a consistent, calming presence about him that made her feel like she could tell him anything and everything that was going through her mind. He never pushed her to speak, but when there was something bothering her, he knew. And he always, always listened.

Sometimes he was a little frightening, though. If he got too drunk he could be dangerous, and Connie had learned to stay away from him after the few times he had gotten wasted. Every once in a while he might lash out at her mother and they'd get into a heated arguement. But the rows didn't usually last more than a day. The problem would be resolved by morning.

Connie loved both of her parents very much. Her mom tried her best to be the cool and easygoing mom around her friends, but she never hesitated to be the spastic, quirky mom when they were alone. Though she worked on the weekdays, she was always around on the weekends, and stayed interested and involved in Connie's life as much as she could. Sometimes her involvement could be a little too overwhelming, but Connie knew that it was well-meant. She usually could tell when Connie was feeling bombarded with questions or when she needed some alone time. Her mom never wanted to pressure her at all. It felt nice to know that her mom was there whenever she needed it.

Lost in thought, Connie absentmindedly reached down to dip the roller back into the paint can. But before she could bring herself back to the present, the roller suddenly hit the can, accidentally knocking the open jar off the ladder. Connie gasped as white paint spewed all over the garage floor.

"Shit!" She yelled. "I'm so sorry!"

Connie turned to her dad wide-eyed, expecting him to start shouting or cursing or scolding her. She was about to scramble down the ladder, but something about her dad's expression made her pause.

He was standing at the other end of the garage, staring intently at the spilled paint on the ground. His face looked guarded and unreadable, and Connie couldn't tell if he was too angry to speak, or if he was simply thinking about what to do.

Finally, her dad walked slowly over to the puddle and squatted down by the wet paint. He carefully looked up at Connie on the ladder and held her gaze.

"Well come down from there," he said, gesturing with his hand. Connie quickly complied, still unsure of what he was thinking. Was he going to slap her? Yell at her? Ground her? She hoped whatever punishment he had in mind wasn't too bad.

Connie stood uncomfortably on the opposite end of the puddle while her dad looked back down at the paint. Then he did something surprising.

He dipped his finger into it.

The paint dripped down his finger for a moment, and then he turned back to Connie. "C'mere," he gestured again. Connie slowly squatted down like her dad. She was at a complete loss as to what was happening.

Her dad reached out with the wet paint dripping from his finger, and for second Connie thought he was going to hit her. But he didn't. He simply rubbed the paint from his finger onto her nose.

He grinned evilly, and Connie looked at him with a shocked expression. Then he surprised her again.

He held out his arms. "Go on," he gestured again, this time from the paint to himself. Connie suddenly felt nervous. Was this a trick?

Carefully, she dipped her own finger into the puddle on the ground, and then smeared the wet paint onto his nose as he had done to her. He gave her a wide smile in response, and Connie couldn't help but return it. This was too great to be true.

Suddenly, before she realized what was happening, her dad stuck both hands into the puddle and smeared a handful of paint all over her face and hair. Connie squealed. Her dad laughed. She grabbed a handful of paint herself and lunged at him, getting paint all over his face and neck.

They were both laughing now, and Connie scrambled back over to the paint puddle to get another sticky handful. Her dad was quicker though, and tackled her from behind. The wet paint sunk into her shirt and she squealed again.

"This—" her dad said, grabbing more paint "—is what you get—" he smeared it onto her neck as Connie struggled to get away "—for spilling paint—" Connie broke away from his grip and he threw paint at the back of her shirt while she ran away. "— in the garage!" He finished, and Connie laughed as she lunged towards the paint puddle. Her knees and hands sunk into the paint and she turned around to try and attack her dad.

"Aaarrrrggg!" He grabbed her around the waist. She struggled and screeched some more, laughing so hard she couldn't breathe.

"What in the world is going on in here?" Connie's mom stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Connie and her dad stopped fighting and caught their breath. They were both now completely covered in white paint and the garage floor was a mess.

Her parents looked at each other and her dad pointed at the paint jar that was lying on the ground. "We spilled paint."

Her mom kept eye contact with him and slowly nodded. "I see," she said as though she realized something beyond just what he had told her.

She dropped his intense gaze and eyed the mess. Connie was sure they would be in trouble now. Surprisingly, a small smile began to form on her mom's lips.

"Alright then," she said. "When you're done playing, there is a mop and soap in the closet. After you clean this mess, you are both to go straight to the shower, and do not touch anything in this house with your wet clothes. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Mom," they both nodded. Connie's mom gave them both one last look over, and then walked back into the house laughing. Connie and her dad both stood in silence for a moment, pondering how much of a mess they would have to clean up later. But for now, Connie took the chance and reached for more paint.

The cleaning would have to wait.

What did you think? Please review if you liked it!