Disclaimer: Not mine (Yay Kudos!), don't sue (broke)
Rating: PG-13 for a wee bit 'o colourful language
Spoilers: Post 2x8
Summary: Tom and Harry talk over coffee.
Feedback: Is craved for!
He cradled the cup in his hands, bowed over the table and breathing in its warmth. There was an anonymity in the crowded coffee shop that Tom found oddly comforting. No one expected anything of him here. He looked up only occasionally, running a trained eye over the businessmen and students that made up the majority of the crowd.
The coffee was cooling, untouched, when a familiar voice caught his attention. Tom's head snapped up, following the sound to its source at the counter. Sure enough there he was, Harry bloody Pearce, stood at the grubby little coffee counter placing his order. Tom frowned, suddenly angry, he'd seemingly done as he was told so why the hell was he here. But watching his boss get his coffee, Tom rethought the situation. Harry certainly didn't look like he'd come here just to speak to him though, dressed in charcoal slacks and a grey-blue jumper. Not exactly work attire.
Still frowning Tom picked out the route to the door and wondered if he could make it without being spotted. Not a chance. Ducking his head instead, he concentrated on looking as inconspicuous as possible. The last thing in the world he needed was being dictated to by that pompous bastard again. His only hope was that Harry got a coffee to go and didn't spot him when he turned around to leave.
"Tom."
Shite, thought Tom as he feigned surprise and looked up to meet the unimpressed eye of his boss. "Harry." He said coldly, hoping like hell the other man would take the hint and leave.
"Truce?" Harry said suddenly, cutting through all the low-level animosity that had been ringing in Tom's ears like white noise.
For a moment neither said anything, as Harry just stood watching with coffee in hand. "Sure," Tom answered flatly, it wasn't as though he had any other choice in the matter after all.
"What brings you here?" he asked as he watched Harry take a seat.
"I'm meeting my daughter." Came the unexpected reply with what could have been a slightly embarrassed look on anyone else, "We're going for a father-daughter lunch."
Tom stared at Harry for a moment longer than was polite. Of course he'd known that Harry was married with a child, but he'd never really been faced with it before. At least not directly.
"How do you do it?" he asked abruptly, unable to keep the anger from bubbling up from beneath the surface, "Tell me, how the hell do you do it, Harry? How do you dish out those damn orders from on high and then just walk away? How do you look your daughter in the eye?"
There was a long, terse silence that fell between them like a shutter closing. What galled him the most was that even though he knew damn well that he'd crossed a line, his words didn't seem to have any effect. Harry just sat impassively across the table from him, his expression totally impenetrable. Damn you, Harry Pearce, Tom thought emphatically as he sat back in his chair forcefully.
"Christ," he said with a shake of his head, "you really don't care do you?"
Harry just watched him. Tom shook his head bitterly and glared at the coffee before him. He could hear the rush of blood in his ears as his jaw clenched and unclenched. He'd tried so hard to shut it all out, push it all away and just do the job. See it through. But that wasn't enough. He was nothing more than his work and he didn't even know why the hell they bothered any more. What was the point?
"I can look her in the eye, because it's for her that I do it." Harry said with surprising gentleness, leaning forward and lowering his voice so he couldn't be overheard, "I'd walk through fire for her. And if I have to make some ambiguous calls to make sure she never has to, I will. I do it so she won't ever have to, to face the bastards or witness the nightmares that we prevent."
Tom stared down at his hands wrapped around his cold coffee. He couldn't meet Harry's eye. Because beneath all the rhetoric he knew what he was saying, knew in his heart that it was true, that he'd lost sight of the reason. He couldn't see why they did the job any more.
"Dad!"
"Speak of the devil." Harry said with a slight laugh, sitting back and smiling up at the girl now standing at his side. She bent down to kiss his cheek and looked expectantly over to Tom. He smiled thinly, knowing that was all he could manage for the time being. She was a pretty girl, in her late teens and with a handful of shopping to her name.
"Tom meet Kate, my daughter. Katie, this is Tim, my friend from work."
It was the way he said it, the warmth which Harry attributed to friend that finally sunk everything home. Smiling suddenly he looked up and caught her eye, "Nice to meet you Kate."
"Tim." She said with a smile of her own, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to steal my dad away from you though. We're going to miss our table if we don't hurry."
"We wouldn't have to hurry if you hadn't been so intent on spending my money." Harry cut in with a meaningful look at bags she carried. But he stood as he spoke, leaving his barely touched coffee on the table and holding his hand out to Tom, "I'll see you at work on Monday, Tim."
Taking his hand Tom nodded, "Yes. You will."
As he watched the two of them retreat out of his view Tom realised that he'd reached a decision. It was as though a pall had been lifted from him, now he could breath more easily. As they vanished from sight completely he knew that it was for them that he did the job.