hostileworkenvironment

luke-

[ Holly already knows this isn't going to go well. He's a lot more emotionally stable than Archer is, and he's still not sure how he feels about the whole thing, about the forty-someodd years he's just been absent for and the ignorance Malory kept him in and how much better Archer might have turned out if he'd been present. He can't imagine how his apparent son's about to feel about the whole thing, but he knows it's going to be bad, which is why he's here, in the park, on a day much too cold for anyone else to be around, even in New York City.

He has the feeling it's about to be... violent, or something, probably, not necessarily on the level of Luke-I-Am-Your-Father but... close. Enough for him to glance at his watch every few minutes, too much for him to feel remotely at ease. He considers leaving a few times, calling it off—it's too late now, and it's probably not even going to benefit Archer to know, the cowardly voice in the back of his head urges—but decides against it every time, because the right thing to do is tell him no matter what ends up coming of it and Lord knows Malory never will and he deserves to hear it from... his father, not that freak Kraut.

When Archer shows up, he's amazed that he didn't see it sooner. It's like looking at an old photo of himself: the nose, the eyes, the cleft chin, the high, chiseled cheekbones. His son. That's his other son, and for a few more minutes, he's going to remain blissfully unaware of it. ]

Mr. Archer.

[ He sticks with that, because shared genetic material aside, they're not close. At all. ]

You should sit.

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[perhaps predictably, archer shows up half-drunk, holding a paper cup from starbucks with the plastic lid missing, steam spilling out into the cold and and carrying with it the distinct smell of kind of alcohol. bourbon, probably, maybe whiskey.

he has absolutely no idea what's about to happen and honestly finds it extremely suspect. he doesn't sit down, opting instead to stand a little ways to holly's side.]

You should tell the CIA sniper up on that building he has shitty positioning. I can see the glint off his scope from here.

[he's... kind of joking in the sense that there's not actually anyone up there, but kind of not in the way that he's expecting something awful to happen. why the hell would this weirdo want to see him alone, other than to brag about being some kind of weird eagle man more? god, it's going to be so embarrassing if he gets shot in central park.]

What, Tweedledick? What do you want?

What?

[ He actually looks, then sighs with aggravation when he realizes that Archer was being sarcastic. See, this is exactly the kind of behavior that he wouldn't have... forget it. ]

You... sure you don't want to sit down?

[ Because he remembers what Malory told him about her idiot s—their idiot son's tendency to faint, and concrete sidewalk, as a rule, tends to be pretty unforgiving. ]

Jesus Christ, now I'm wondering if there actually is a guy up there, [he shoots back, brows furrowing.] No, idiot, I'm fine here. But whatever, take your time, I am quite literally hourly.

[he looks down at his cup, swirling the drink in it slightly.]

Unless youuuuuu're offering me a job on account of my awesome performances?

...Mmm, not quite. And also no.

[ Holly takes a quick breath, opens the manila folder that's been resting on his knees since he got here an hour ago. As much thought as he's given his approach to this, he finds himself going unscripted. ]

A few weeks ago, without my knowledge or consent I might add, that Kraut bastard of yours darted me and took a cheek swab, which, a lot to unpack there, but. Point being... he ran some tests and it looks like I'm your biological father. Now, I know that sounds like something we'd probably tell you to get you to do... name something, but I have the results here. It's for real.

[ He holds out a stapled packet, the pages slightly heavy with absorbed mist. ]

Edited 2020-12-25 17:38 (UTC)

[archer looks between holly and the folder a couple of times, then drains the rest of his drink, slaps the folder out of holly's hands, crushes the cup in his fist and drops it on top of the folder.]

This is fucked up even for you creeps, [he says, a shockingly strong amount of spite lacing his words like venom.] Leave me the hell alone.

[he turns on his heel to leave. there's no way this is anything other than some kind of mind game or joke, he thinks. no way.]

[ Yeah, this is about to the tune of what he expected. ]

God dammit, Archer! You think I'm thrilled about this? Sit the hell down. Yesterday I woke up and learned that I've had a child I didn't know about for the past 42 years because his selfish hag of a mother kept that information from me, so if you think you're the only one dealing with anything here you're wrong!

If it's such a goddamn burden to you then why did you even bother with this in the first place?!

[which-- god. okay, he's still assuming this is some fucked up CIA ploy because everything aside, holly seemed like a weird enough guy to actually do this. archer, who hasn't thought about his father since jakov died and he shoved it deep down into a place where he didn't have to think about it anymore, doesn't even know how to begin entertaining the idea that this might be real, even though he knows what krieger did is... well, that's basically a tuesday for krieger.]

Seriously, asshole, what the hell are you even trying to do here? Humiliate me?

Why would that— Because of your options, having the former head of the KGB as your father would be preferable to me? Jesus. I can only guess that you're trying to make me wonder why I did bother—

[ Another sigh. He bends forward and picks up the now-soaked paternity test off the ground, shaking off what brown puddle water he can before returning it to the folder Krieger presented it in. ]

Try to think logically here. What benefit could this possibly have for the Agency? As opposed to your mother, who...

[honestly? he kind of is. archer's response to anything like this is to yank the chain to see if it breaks and keep yanking if it doesn't. he'd thought time would erode it with woodhouse, but the valet seems steadfast regardless and... he keeps yanking it.

phrasing. gross. phrasing.

archer laughs a high pitched, bitter laugh.] --who would get her foot in the door if one of the people hiring us happened to have a personal investment? Oh, this is just classic her! I bet she told Krieger to do it just to spite me!

[ That's actually... a possibility. He doesn't remember sleeping with her specifically, but the timeline is right, and they were at the same place at the same time, and...

Christ. The person who raised his child has been that cruel to him over his lifetime that that's his first assumption. ]

Mr. Archer, I confronted her first. And when I did, she begged me not to tell you and insisted that I had no proof. [ When shrieking at him and making threats to call the president and the director and God knows who else all fell flat. He's pretty sure she doesn't know how to cry on command, though they probably were crocodile tears, or at least selfish ones. ]

Yeah, well, she didn't want Jakov involved either. [then he got murdered by barry. should... archer mention that? he has a psychotic cyborg stalker? he's pretty sure they killed barry in that grain elevator but the blonde fucker is nothing if not tenacious.] She's using you, dumbass. She spun you some sob story about how she hasn't bought a new cruelty-guaranteed fur coat in a couple weeks and now she's digging her claws into you.

[he's still pissed, still almost unbearably furious, shoving his hands into his pockets just so he can make fists out of sight.]

Now all the future assignments are going to be really weird. So, thanks a lot for this.

Hey. You can thank Dr. Krieger, not me.

[ Holly sets the folder beside him on the cold wrought-iron of the bench's seat and folds his arms. ]

I'm pretty familiar with what manipulation looks like, Mr. Archer. I work for the CIA, remember? Anyway, I'll have you know that she threatened to call the goddamn president over it, so she clearly has a vested interest in keeping you in her... smothering hold.

You don't know what her manipulation looks like, Deputy Director Dickhead. No shit she'd make empty threats like that if she knows it'll get you to back down.

[then again, he didn't and she... presumably hasn't.

--since when does malory know the president?

archer pinches his nose, stress showing on his face. finally, he sits down right on the edge of the bench.]

Okay, so assume I'm going along with whatever little scheme you two have going here. Why? Literally, why bother?

[ Well, at least this is kind of progress. He's not throwing anything and he's finally had a seat, which is... something, at least, and better than Holly anticipated this going. ]

Because it's the right thing to do. [ There's probably going to be a crack about the CIA in response to that, but he doesn't bother preemptively addressing it. ] What you choose to do with this information is up to you, but you have the right to know, and God knows she'd never tell you.

[ Plus, he should probably know he has a family history of hypertension, but mostly the emotional reasons. ]

[because it's the right thing to do, and archer's fully so immediately pissed off he's almost seeing red. he didn't want this. he'd almost completely settled for just never knowing his dad, just accepting that he either never cared about him, got driven away by malory or fucking died when barry blew up the safe house. he wasn't fine with it by any stretch, but it wasn't something he had to think about anymore.

... okay, no, it was something he thought about a lot, especially with AJ being born, but he figured he had as good a handle on it as he was ever going to get.

he looks down at the manilla folder again, sick to his stomach of malory's manipulation, of working for the fucking CIA, of... honestly, name a thing.

archer deals with this the way he always does: maturely. he abruptly lashes out, sucker-punching holly right in the jaw.]

Son of a bitch, Archer!

[ Holly straightens up on the pavement, jaw throbbing with what's undoubtedly going to be a serious bruise. The metallic tang of blood starts to creep onto the side of his tongue as he rests a hand on the new injury, keeping the other ready to strike back if he tries anything else. ]

Be a man about this, will you? I could have kept you in the dark for the rest of your life, you know!

[ Maybe hypothetically. Realistically... no, he couldn't, and that's why he's here freezing his ass off in a no-name park in Manhattan with a probable cracked jaw. ]

Maybe you goddamn should have, asshole! [he's caught between actually believing this and still being so pissed off with everything.] Do you fucking regret getting caught up in this bullshit, now?!

[for a split second it looks like he's going to kick holly when he's down, but-- doesn't.]

Give me the folder.

[ Not... entirely. But definitely mostly. Holly holds it out, as he'd rather ironically planned to do from the beginning, then gets to his feet to stand with his hands on his hips, watching Archer with narrowed eyes. ]

All yours. Obviously, I'd want to get a test done at a reputable lab, but...

[that's what he wants to hear, so everything can go back to normal. archer snatches the folder out of holly's hands, flicking through it with an expression of ever-increasing ...something. it's not actually immediately clear what the emotion is.

something else has occurred to him, anyway.]

I mean... the fact you think this is feasible... I guess that means-- oh, god! You and mother--!

['scuze him. he's just gonna throw that coffee back up on the grass next to the bin.]

[ Holly frowns down at his hunched-over probable son, watching impassively as he yacks up Starbucks and the other, alcoholic 50% of the concoction he showed up here with on the wet grass. ] .........Yyyyeah, was kinda wondering when you'd put two and two together on that one. Though she was a lot younger, obviously.

Oh... Jesus Christ. Can you not? Talk about it more? Ugh. [he pulls a flask of something out his back pocket and downs whatever was in there.] Or I'll call... I don't know. CPS.

[which... oof, that's a little too close to admitting he's starting to actually consider this, which given the fact he hasn't outright fainted yet is probably enough of a clue how seriously he's taking it.]

Speaking of, you better start ponying up support payments, asshole. I have a Vegas trip planned.

Well, if your mother had deigned to tell me, yes. But seeing as you've missed that window by about 20 years...

[ Consolation prize: he's probably going to have to... invite him to Christmas at some point, or something. Knowing Malory it's probably going to be better than any Christmas he's ever had even if David does the very barest minimum, i.e., withholding whatever holiday-themed verbal abuse she undoubtedly throws at him. ]

[archer finishes his flask, then pulls another one out and starts on that one.]

Goddamn useless, [he mutters to himself.] well, despite my better judgment I guess I'm starting to come around on this, so. I'm gonna... you know...

[faint.]

[ Well. Not sure where he got that from. Though, again, he should really tell him about the hypertension thing when he comes to. Uncle Eddie's stroke and all. And if this is an ongoing thing he should probably... get an MRI, or something.

For the time being, though, Holly just focuses on dragging Archer into an upright position on the bench, occasionally assuring dog walkers that there's nothing to see here, just a homeless man, you know how it goes. God, he's heavy, which really isn't doing his rotator cuff any favors.

When Archer starts to come to, he'll find that Holly's sitting next to him on the same bench, reading the paper. ]

[it only takes him a couple minutes to come back to, to which he immediately grabs his flask again even as he's laying with his head lolled over the back of the bench. archer sighs a little.]

You know, I have a crazy cyborg stalker. If he finds out about this he'll probably try to blow you up. Just... a heads up.

Yeah, I vaguely remember reading something like that in everyone's depositions.

[ Which, in retrospect. Awkward. ]

I wouldn't be too worried, though, because this is the CIA, and unless that Kraut of yours runs his mouth, which... actually seems like a decent probability, it won't get out. Just be sure Poovey doesn't find out.

I'm not worried, [he snaps, suddenly, quite obviously starting to consider this something that he might lose again, because every time anything nice happens he loses it for one reason or another.] but seriously, just assuming it's the CIA isn't gonna be enough, dumbass, and not that I care, but I'd imagine having your spine pulled out through your face would probably suck.

[he crosses his arms, looking away, though his mouth quirks up in a smirk.]

God, I bet Slater would vomit blood.

Don't tell Slater. You need to stop antagonizing him.

[ Because God knows he hates the guy enough already, and also, he really doesn't want to spend the next however many missions listening to Slater bitch about it. Granted, he doesn't entirely blame him - Archer's infuriating and deliberately provocative, traits which haven't magically disappeared because of an apparent blood connection. ]

Eh. [he says, in that non-comittal tone.] So, uh...

What now? Last time I got to this point he died.

Jesus. I'm sorry that happened to you.

[ And he kind of means it, even if it's unclear why they didn't just do a paternity test. Speaking of. ]

Well, first, we go to one of the LabCorp buildings around here or whatever you have in New York, because the dates line up, but... [ Shit, hope that doesn't make him throw up again. He doesn't have a very strong stomach for a spy. ] Sorry. Anyway, I'm not a hundred percent confident Dr. Krieger performed whatever tests are involved correctly, seeing as he also didn't bother to get consent from either of us before stealing our... what I really hope was just shed hair.

Edited 2020-12-27 23:58 (UTC)

You don't even know me, [he believed pam, maybe, but no-one else.] it was my fault anyway, so you know, whatever.

[archer's face scrunches up again, but he doesn't vomit and it's more at the idea of krieger taking anything off him. the "tests" he ran before they went into space comes to mind. he doesn't want this to be real, and he doesn't know what'll happen if it is. he looks away again, then sighs and pulls himself up.]

Fuck it. Worst case she shoots me again, so we might as well... [he trails off after a moment, looking at holly like he's not even human for split second. then... holds a hand out to help him up.]

Edited 2020-12-28 00:10 (UTC)

[ The hand goes unnoticed in the wake of that revelation, because holy shit, he knew Malory was bad, but he didn't know she was that bad. ]

Again? Your mother shot you? Back up, why would she have...

[ He does finally take the hand, though, because the cold cement is hurting his ass and he already knows he's going to be feeling this for the next week. His jaw, too, is throbbing. ]

Six times in the 10-ring. Paramedic said I should've been dead nine times over. [he pulls holly up, though drops his hand the moment he's in the clear, looking around like he's almost worried someone saw him be, perish the thought, nice.] Russian mind control chip drilled into my brain and cellphone interference. Long story.

[a beat, then:] Do you like alligators?

[ Well, that's... better than his initial suspicion, though it speaks volumes that a disturbingly violent act of punishment seemed more likely to him than... name a slightly more outlandish but overall better reason. That thought's quickly lost, however, in the wake of what Archer brings up.

God, and then he just felt sorry for the poor kid, didn't actually realize that he was speaking to his own son. It's gut wrenching, now that it's emerged in isolation from the flurry of thoughts that have surrounded the past 24 hours. ]

You remember that.

[holly doesn't ask what the hell archer is going on about. that solidifies the pit in his stomach. maybe it should excite him, but it just makes him feel vaguely sick.

(maybe he's just thinking about whatever relationship malory and holly had again. eugh.)]

I hate alligators, [he says simply, shoving his hands in his pockets to walk ahead of holly.]

[ This is more along the lines of what he expected once he seriously started to think about the news. Why would Archer welcome him with open arms, if that's even what he himself wants? He spent his entire childhood away at boarding school or under the supervision of a heroin addict and a cruel mother. And Holly... well, he did nothing to whisk him away, like he imagines the kid probably hoped he or whatever image he conjured up in the place of his absentee father would.

He would have been worse off, really, if he'd been a ward of the state—New York isn't and wasn't exactly known for the quality of its system of orphanages, which is where he would have wound up. At least the boarding schools presumably gave him a chance at a decent house father or something (though, from what he's heard from his colleagues in MI6, their role, at least at Eton, was more to beat the everloving shit out of their wards.)

Holly shoves his hands in the pockets of his chinos as he walks and stares down at his loafers, clearing his throat. ]

I'm sorry. For not... [ Getting you out of that situation. ] Saying something, to someone. [ Child Protective Services. ] I should have. [ A beat. ] I understand why you'd be angry about that.

[he falls silent as he walks, shoulders hunched. it's only after holly finishes speaking he slows a bit, pulling his flask out of his jacket.]

Are you kidding? She would've broken you in half. [a beat, then, because if he doesn't admit to the resentment then he doesn't have to admit it traumatized him and therefore there's nothing wrong with him:] You didn't know, anyway. Besides, I'm worried that extended exposure would've made me grow up with that goddamn bombsite of a hairline.

That's... not how genetics work. You know that, right?

[ He's still at an age where he thinks aging won't happen to him, which kind of fits with his entire immaturity complex. ]

And considering that I don't have a single gray hair at 65, I really can't complain.

Edited 2021-01-09 22:13 (UTC)

Let me have this before it's possibly confirmed to be my future. I'm on the edge of a nervous breakdown, here.

[just over the hairline, not the parent thing. like, the parent thing doesn't help, but archer would cite the reason as the hairline.]

You almost don't have any hair, dumbass! That's not a widow peak, that's a widow goddamn mountain!

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