Harry Cunningham let out an utterly frustrated huff, scrubbing his face with his hands. His eyes stung and his head pounded from the three straight hours of marking essay after essay after essay. He hadn't slept much the night before, although, he can't remember the last time he had actually slept properly. Well, he could, but the last time he let himself get caught up in that, he had spiralled into a deep, dark depression. One which he wasn't sure he was completely out of even now.

It had been 16, almost 17 years since... Well, since he had made the biggest mistake of his life. Moving to New York had changed him, ruined him, if he was honest. Not a day went by where he didn't regret it. Where there was a dull, heavy ache where his heart should be. Where his dreams weren't plagued with the one and only person that had he had ever truly loved.

He had jumped into a relationship with the first woman he met here; Karen Pope. She was perfect for him, really. The only imperfection being that she wasn't Nikki Alexander. Things with Karen, they moved fast. It didn't bother him in the slightest she had a 2 year old daughter, Becca. They were married within six months and were genuinely happy for the first couple of years. But after that, things got... strained, to say the least.

Harry just became cold and disconnected. He loved Karen, he really did, but only as a friend. Only ever as a friend. Karen always knew that there was somebody else, that Harry would never be able to love her with all his heart. That he had just gotten caught up in it all, that she and Becca helped his loneliness. At least, at first. But he was a good man, and she couldn't hate him for it. Couldn't resent him no matter how hard she tried. She was doing the same thing, really. Harry helped keep the lonliness at bay. Even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

Becca still thought the world of him, that's why they had stayed together for so long. 9 years to be exact. For Becca. They didn't hate each other, no, far from it, they just didn't love each other. Not in the way husband and wife were supposed to. They sort of fell into this routine. They were best friends by the end of the marriage. They only really broke up because Becca made them see the light. She was smart and wise beyond her years, always had been.

Even now, Becca still thought the world of Harry. She was off to University but still phoned her 'Dad' every couple of days, just to check up on him and make sure he was okay. And he had remained good friends with Karen too. She helped him a lot. She was now happily married to Becca's biological father but still saw Harry for weekly dinner dates and lunch dates. And for that, for Karen and Becca, he would be forever grateful. They were the only things that had stopped him from losing it and spinning off the rails completley. But after Karen, there had been nobody else. There never would be, not while his heart had a hole that only Nikki could fill. No matter how many adorning 25 year old girls threw themselves at him -and there were a lot of them, twice as many as there was back in London, Harry just wasn't interested. He had always told himself, even before the move, that he would be the George Clooney type of guy. That he wouldn't settle down, he would just have a string of beautiful young girlfriends. But he had just been lying to himself. Ever since the day he met Nikki, fresh faced, overly eager and sitting at his bloody desk he had wanted more. He had wanted a wife, kids and a dog kind of lifebut had always been too stupid and too scared to do anything about that. And now he had blown any chance of having that. At being happy.

Harry closed his eyes and groaned. He was fed up. Fed up of marking. Fed up of being in a constant state of limbo. Fed up with living with the consequences of the biggest mistake of his life. Fed up with New York. Just fed up with the way his life had turned out. Becca had phoned him at lunch to say she was coming to visit him tomorrow. That had to be something, right?

Whatever. Harry grumbled internally, throwing his green pen down onto his desk. It was getting on for 5pm and he'd been there since 6am, surviving on nothing but several hundred cups of coffee and a bagel. Yay for exam season! Harry grumbled internally again. America had made him bitter, but that was his own bloody fault, and he knew it.

He pushed his chair away from his desk and rooted around for his briefcase on the floor, not noticing the figure that had just appeared in his doorway.

As the knocking on the door sounded and pulled him from his musings, Harry jumped, banging his head on his desk and causing his giant stack of essay papers to fly to the ground in a heap.

"Shit!" He mumbled under his breath as the back of his head started to throb and papers flitted to the floor.

"Professor Cunningham?"

"Yes?" Harry asked, not looking up as he picked up the papers he had knocked off his desk. He assumed it was just one of his students, wanting an extension on their essay deadline. Well, Harry mused, collecting the sheets of paper off the floor, they aren't getting one. Just for the pure and simple fact that I, Harry Cunningham, am in a God-awful bad mood. What Harry hadn't noticed was the familiarity of the voice. The crisp, British accent. The one he knew so well and loved so much.

"Dr Harry Cunningham?" The voice asked again, emphasising on the 'Dr' part, as if making sure of something.

"Yes, yes, what do you want?!" Harry huffed, still not picking up on the perfect, Queen-like pronunciation but wanting to get whatever it was over with as quickly as possible so he could go home and dissappear in a bottle of scotch.

"I think you might be my father"

This is just a little something I had an idea about and if people like it, I will update it. Please let me know, thanks xo