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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
[for a split second it looks like he's going to kick holly when he's down, but-- doesn't.]
Give me the folder.
no subject
All yours. Obviously, I'd want to get a test done at a reputable lab, but...
no subject
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.]
no subject
no subject
[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.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[he crosses his arms, looking away, though his mouth quirks up in a smirk.]
God, I bet Slater would vomit blood.
no subject
[ 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. ]
no subject
What now? Last time I got to this point he died.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[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.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
[a beat, then:] Do you like alligators?
no subject
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.
no subject
(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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ 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.
no subject
[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!