Sins of the Father

Harry deals with his grown children and the choices he has made as their father, both in the past and present. As such, this fic will be angst-filled. But with Ruth at his side, Harry does have someone to help him get through these troubled waters. How will it all end? Read on... :)

- 1-

Half asleep on the couch, and aimlessly stroking Scarlet, Harry reaches for the phone without looking at the display. But as soon as he hears who it is and how she sounds, he is instantly alert.

"Dad?"

"Catherine. What's wrong?"

She pauses for only an instant, but it might as well be an eternity. "It's Graham."

He closes his eyes.

"He's in hospital."

And swallows.

"He's been shot."

"How bad?"

"It's minor. He's ok."

He remembers to breathe again. "Where are you?"

"With him."

"Yes. But where?"

"St Charles."

He pushes Scarlet off his lap and stands up from the couch. "I'll be right there."

"Dad." And he hears her hesitate. "Mom's coming, too."

"Fine. Of course." He says, making his way to the hall closet. "Catherine," he says, opening the closet door, "Are you alright?"

"Dad…. I'm not sure if you should… come, actually."

"Then why did you call me?" He cringes at the coldness in his voice. But he does nothing to soften his tone nor his words as he reaches inside the hall closet. "Catherine?" He asks into the silence, his hand now suspended above his coat.

"You know …how he feels. He….He's… "

" My son." He says softly, then drops his hand to his side. "Tell me what happened."

"It was a... drug deal gone bad."

"Go on," he says quietly, staring at his coat, untouched, still on its hanger.

"There really isn't a lot to tell. But, " she adds, "it's not hard drugs."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Just pills? Or weed? Or God knows what else. Then you call me and…Oh, God. I'm …sorry. I am. Please...don't…cry, Catherine. . Don't."

"Not crying," she says, convincing no one.

"I worry about you too, you know. " He says gently, his head bowed just a bit.

"I'm all right."

"No it's ...not… You're not. " He pauses. "At least let me be with you, then."

"But Dad.. I'll be with—"

"I'm your parent , too." He says, his words little more than a sigh.

"I know."

"Give me the name of his doctor. And everything else that you have."

After she does, he says, "At least come here. After. This evening."

"I can't leave him. And Mom."

He slowly shuts the closet door. "Catherine," he says only. And in that one word, both hear all the words left unsaid.


The following morning, Harry is back in his glass cubicle of an office, little more than a box, really. Exposed. Yet isolated. A perfect metaphor, he feels at times, for his life.

"Yes?" He barks, not looking up at the shadow next to him. "How many times must I tell you people not to-"

"I'm sorry." She says, a piece of paper in her hand.

"Come in, Ruth," he says, much more gently. "What do you have there?"

"It's not..I can come back later…"

He shakes his head. "Don't mind me. A bad night, that's all."

Silently, she gives him the paper.

He glances at it, then crumples it. "Bugger the Home Office. " Then he throws the offending bit into his waste basket. It hits the rim then drops inside.

"Shall I tell them that, then?" She flicks her eyes from the wastebasket then back to him, still seated at his desk.

"No. I will." He drops his gaze back down to the papers on his desk. "Is there anything else?" He asks, not looking at her.

She waits a second before replying. "Harry... I .."

"Yes?" A sigh escapes him even as he keeps his eyes somewhere, anywhere, away from her eyes, those piercing blue eyes he sees even when she's not looking at him.

"Is….Is there. …Did I…?"

He lifts his eyes to her, then. And just as he knew she would be, she's looking at him with the gentlest of expression, and her eyes, those eyes, so impossibly blue, are filled with concern.

"I'm sorry. Ruth. ..." He shakes his head. "It's..." He drops his voice. "Close the door, will you?"

Reaching over, she slides the heavy door shut. Then stands there. Expectantly.

"You may be sorry you asked, actually." He gestures to the chair opposite his desk.

She sits down, her hands in her lap, now facing him. Uncharacteristically still, she waits, her extraordinary eyes still fixed upon him.

"It's my son. "

She says nothing. Just gives an imperceptible nod, but it's all he needs. "He's in ..hospital."

"Oh. God, Harry I'm—"

"He's ok." Then shrugs. "For him, that is."

"Sorry?"

He sighs, "You know that he has...problems... Substance abuse." He shakes his head again. "Let's not mince words. Drugs." He blinks before he goes on. "And last night he was involved in some sordid drug deal gone bad. But," he says, "according to Catherine, it's somewhat ameliorated by the fact that my drug addict of a son is not doing hard drugs. Yet." He makes a face.

"I'm so sorry." She says. "What can I..?" She flips both hands over, palms exposed.

"Do?" He sighs loudly. "He's been in and out of rehab since a teenager. First alcohol. Then pills. Weed. And anything else he can get his hands on. But he's scared of needles." He sighs. "I guess I should be grateful for that. Or so Catherine tells me. But …he can't hold a job. Can't...do...much of... " He sighs again, his shoulders rising then falling.

"I'm sure that…"

"Don't be." He says, curtly. "Be sure of nothing. He won't even see me."

No one speaks for a moment. Then she reaches for the edge of his desk, his own hand resting on the surface just inches away.

He takes note of her hand. Then lifts his eyes to hers again. "I'm sorry. I know that I've been a bear today. More so than usual." He adds and smiles just a bit.

She shakes her head. "You're not a bear. Well. Perhaps not quite full-grown. More like... a cub. "And she smiles a bit as well, a hint of her dimples showing.

"Well, " he says, "this ..cub could use a drink. Ironic, isn't it?"

"Sorry?"

"It's all related, isn't it? " And before she can answer, he says, "Or so it would appear from what I've read about ...substance abuse."

She shakes her head. "It's not the same. You..."

"I like to drink. You can say it."

"But you-"

"I wonder. Maybe that's why he..." And he lets it hang there.

"Harry." She says firmly. "You're not an alcoholic. You hold a responsible job and given the enormous stress you are under, both professionally and personally, I 'd say you-"

"-What? What would you say?"

"That..you're... ok."

"Ok?" He says, the bitterness so sharp he can almost taste it. "My own son won't see me. And neither will Catherine."

"But I thought that you and she were…"

"No. I mean... Yes. You're right. We've repaired our relationship. Somewhat. But she's loyal to her mother. And her brother. The former I can understand. But the ..." And he shakes his head.

"He's her brother. " She says, leaning in towards him. "Your son."

"Are you reproaching me?" And he leans back from her.

"No. I only meant.."

He sighs, then. Loudly. "Ah.. a bear. I told you so."

Her dimples flash then disappear. "Harry. Have you eaten anything today?"

He shrugs. " I'm fine, Ruth. And I appreciate your concern. As usual."

"Well, I do think that ..."

"Yes. That I should eat something."

"No." She says, and sits up a bit straighter. " We should have lunch. Together. In a bit. Or now. Or... later. .. I .." Her cheeks turn a charming shade of pink, but she keeps her eyes on him.

"You know," he says, the first genuine smile breaking through, "that's the best idea anyone has had all day." And he stands up, pushing back his chair.

"Now?" she asks, her eyes going wide.

"Yes." He says. "Now."

She stands up as well, then waits a bit uncertainly.

"Let's go." He says. "I suddenly find that I'm starving." And he picks up his mobile and shakes it a bit at her. "They'll know where to find me."

She smiles, then. " Careful. You might…."

"Drop it? Break it? " He smiles ruefully. Then slipping his mobile inside his coat pocket, he slides the door open.