Tommy

CONTENT:

Rating: Teen

Flavor: Drama

Language: some

Violence: none

Nudity: none

Sex: none

Other: none

Author's Note:

Ever notice how scruffy-looking Tommy was getting? The poor guy, so depressed.

Tommy

===#===

Tommy frowned at the small gift his father had given him: a portable electric razor. What was this trying to say? You look like bum, but I can't fire you because you're my son? Almost losing his father made Tommy realize just how much there was to lose. But some days...!

A few minutes later, his father came in. "Is everything ready with the Thurgood accounts?"

"Yes."

"And the reps from Sydney? Did Robin get the presentation updated?"

"Yes, but they wanted to move the meeting to 4:30."

"Dammit!" Malcolm rubbed a hand down his face. "Listen, Tommy, can you do the presentation if I take Thurgood? Robin and Clarence can help with the statistics, if you need them to."

Tommy wondered briefly why his dad couldn't do it. It's not as if he'd never stayed late at work before. But, of course, the senior Merlyn's reasons were his own. "I can do it," he said. "I'll have some extra time to go through the presentation."

"Good. Thank you." Malcolm smiled as he came over to take the file from Tommy. "How's everything else going?"

"Fine. Dad, what's this?" He gestured at the open gift box.

"Oh, I just noticed lately..." He gestured along his jaw, intimating Tommy's five o'clock shadow. "If you don't always have time to shave in the morning, having one of these at the office is handy."

"In other words, you don't like my grooming habits," Tommy said sourly.

"Well, the chicks may dig the rugged look, but some of the Asian businessmen... not so much." He softened his words further with a smile.

"Why do you always do that, Dad? You know? You're always making some kind of veiled gesture or vague comments and suggestions. I hate that. Why don't you just come out and say what it is you mean?"

Malcolm blinked at him a moment. "Um... because you really hate it when you think I'm trying to tell you what to do?"

"Ergh," Tommy sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Is everything all right? You seem... out of sorts, lately."

Well, that's because my best friend- who, by the way, is also a serial killer- dumped his girlfriend in my lap, and i was so happy to finally have a free and clear chance to be with a woman I admired and loved, that I didn't notice right away that she still loved him and he still loved her. And I couldn't stand being the consolation prize any longer, so I foolishly gave up my one true shot at happiness so they could get it on. Except Mr. Murderer told me, to my face, in no uncertain terms, that he could never be with her. And stupid me, I thought I still had a shot at winning her love, and I'd be a damned fool not to take it. Just to find out, ha-ha, the joke is on you, Tommy Merlyn, because before I can make a move, they're already naked and doing the dirty deed.

"Is it the job?" his father was asking. "Because you know you can talk to me about it. That's what I'm here for."

"It's not the job." Tommy stared at the desk. "It's personal." His father seemed to be waiting, but he didn't give him anything else.

"You know," Malcolm finally said; "We used to be able to talk. Sometimes I wish we could dump all this baggage we have, all this father and son stuff, and just talk again, like two equals."

"Really," Tommy said; "It's not you. I just don't want to talk about it right now."

"All right."

Tommy reached for the laptop on his desk and started to pull up the presentation file. He stopped when his father spoke again. "I want to tell you something. I know right now isn't the best time to talk about this, but... I've been thinking lately, and I know I haven't been a very good father. I just wanted you to know, I do realize that, and I want to tell you I am sorry."

Tommy gripped the edge of the desk; he thought for sure the office building was shaking. That was it, the ground was going to crack and swallow them up after that revelation. Where the hell had that come from? Tommy didn't know what to say, nor even how he felt.

Malcolm apparently didn't expect a reply. He tucked the file under his arm, turned and walked towards the door.

My God, thought Tommy. Could he be sick? He seemed to be moving in pain. "Dad, are you okay?"

"What?" He turned back.

"You look like you're limping."

"Oh." He grinned sheepishly. "It was fencing practice last night. I pulled my favorite muscle. Again." He made a face, and Tommy had to grimace in sympathy. "I hate when that happens."

"It must be tough, getting old," Tommy said, relieved enough to start teasing. "You should slow down."

"Hey, just because I'm your old man, that doesn't make me old," his father shot back. "We get you out on the strip, we'll see how you do."

"Oh, no. No violent sports for me, thank you. How about racquetball? I seem to recall you used to be quite the hotshot in that one."

A shadow passed briefly over Malcolm's face. "I think I'm definitely past my prime for that." Tommy didn't think that could be true. Perhaps it reminded him too much of Oliver's father. "I know. How about a nice, vigorous, and exciting round of golf?"

"Ugh! Talk about boring!"

"Hey, if it's good enough for Motley Crue..."

"Motley Crue are old, Dad," Tommy said, rolling his eyes. "Go on, I have to get some work done."

"Ah, right." He turned back at the door one more time before leaving. "You know what, Tommy? Australians like rugged. You look fine." He waved it off and left.

A smile spread slowly across Tommy's face. Well, his dad was right about one thing: if they could just drop the baggage and talk like two regular guys, it would be really good.

Tommy didn't know if he could completely forgive his father just yet. It was all so sudden. He knew they couldn't get back what they'd lost, or recover those years when his father had all but abandoned him. But the man had made the effort to admit his mistakes. The least Tommy could do was give the old man a chance.

===X===