federal agent holly. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
eaglehawkdovetheory) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hostileworkenvironment2020-12-24 10:07 pm
eaglehawkdovetheory) wrote in hostileworkenvironment2020-12-24 10:07 pm
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.
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.