luke-

[eaglehawkdovetheory]

[ 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.

Comments

[undiagnosed]

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

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

[eaglehawkdovetheory]

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.

[undiagnosed]

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.]

[eaglehawkdovetheory]

[ 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. ]

[undiagnosed]

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?

[eaglehawkdovetheory]

[ 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.

[undiagnosed]

[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.]

[eaglehawkdovetheory]

[ 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.

[undiagnosed]

[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.

[eaglehawkdovetheory]

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.

[undiagnosed]

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!