Chapter Two: Strength

Angela March took three steps into her lab and stood there. The bright artificial glow of the lights overhead made her eyes hurt and her mind still had that unpleasant buzzing feeling from the meeting this morning. So Pearse had met a woman. Fine, she thought. That's well and fine for a priest.

He'd slept on her couch.

In her house.

Angie reached over and gripped the side panel so tight her knuckles turned white as she continued to stare hatefully into the lab. Some woman, off the street and Pearse had just waltzed into her home and made himself comfortable. She'd known him for years, had fought along side him, had laughed and cried (well, she cried, Angela could never remember a time when she'd ever seen Harman so much as tear) along side him and never, never had he even stayed at her home past nine in the evening.

But this woman comes along and suddenly Pearse is playing sleepover.

She almost jumped when she felt Vaughan's warm hand over her own as he gently pulled her from the door, smiled at her and walked in. Vaughan walked over and sunk into the chair. He swung it about, and watched her.

"I'm not jealous." She snapped. "He's my boss."

Vaughan nodded sagely.

"But we have protocol for this kind of thing." She continued; she began to tap her fingers on the panel. "Protocol that he implemented, he wrote out…" She began to chew on her lip. "I mean, can you imagine how he would have reacted if you or I just told him what he's told us? He'd go spare!"

Vaughan nodded.

"And he'd be more then a little concerned. I mean, really, even if we didn't do what we do…how are you just going to trust some person off the street…"

He nodded again.

Angie stopped talking and stared at him. "He's not some kid cruising on a weekend, for god's sake."

"I know." Vaughan finally drawled leaning back. "He's a man."

"Pearse isn't a man…" She muttered unhappily. "He's a priest."

"…who is realizing that there are more days behind then ahead. Who has met a woman."

"A strange woman! I mean what do we know about her? Really?"

"She sent him flowers."

"…What?"

Vaughan nodded, but did not smile. Instead he twirled in the chair slightly catching her eyes. "Flowers. Big pretty arrangement. Lots of color. Michael's ogling it now. Wanna see?"

And a moment later, from her place in Pearse's doorway, Angie took several long minutes to stare at the arrangement as it sat on his desk before chewing on her bottom lip. "Now," She began thickly and as if each word brought her pain. "I'm not jealous."

"Bugger." Michael drawled as he pulled a flower from the arrangement and began to pluck the petals one after another. "I'd be. Daddy's getting us a new mummy."

Angie ignored him as he began to play 'he loves her, he loves her not' on the flower. "But we still have protocol, and Vaughan?"

"Yeah Ange?"

"This requires discretion, Vaughan."

"Yes, Ange."

"Find out what you can about this…woman."

"Olivia Farrell."

Angie looked up at Michael. "What?"

"Farrell, Pearse left her name and business card with the guard at the front desk." He smiled softly as he pulled the last petal as a 'he loves her.' Then he inclined his head and waved the naked steam knowingly. "Said he might be late coming back."

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The restaurant was the kind of cramped sort of quarters that was dark regardless of the time of day or effectiveness of the lights. A woman sung Italian in deep, raspy tones amid violins and guitars from speakers hidden somewhere behind bundles of fake, silk flora. On either side were crude little psuedo-impressionist paints of Milan and Nice and each table was decorated with the typical red and white-checkered cloth. Two or three of the small tables were filled with suited businessmen and another with some would be Hemingway who sat in the corner, clad all in black, with a journal opened on the table and cheap bottle of wine resting neglected by the bread.

And sitting behind a small bundled of white flowers drinking a glass of red wine and playing with the corner of her menu idly was Olivia. She wore a dark red blouse that hung lazily over her pale shoulders, and a long flowing skirt that pooled around her. She seemed to like being swallowed up in clothing; it seemed to make her smaller, less assured.

Pearse smiled a little at the idyllic scene.

She looked up only when he had pulled the chair from under the table across from her. She blinked a little before blooming into a smile. "Am I terribly naughty?"

Pearse nodded. "But creative. Where's my wallet?"

Olivia reached into her purse and produced his wallet wordlessly before smiling at him. "Could you blame me?"

He left the wallet on the table, he watched as she poured him a glass of wine and took it without question. "You clean up nicely."

"And you…" She began softly before leaning back and taking him into her gaze. "Are just as formal as I saw you last night."

Pearse instantly regretted the choice of clothing. "Old habits."

"Do you own a pair of jeans, Father Harman?"

"It's a personal question isn't it, Ms. Farrell?"

Olivia shrugged demurely. "I don't have a lot of time with you, do I? It's hardly the time for civility."

Pearse flinched and took another drink of wine.

"…I didn't mean it like that. I meant…all I have is lunch before you sweep out of my life, and I might as well…bullocks. I'm terrible." She looked down and took a drink. "I need more wine." He refilled her glass. She blushed. "I'm sorry, Pearse. I didn't mean to be so…"

"Refreshing." Pearse supplied. "Don't apologize. My colleagues know I am dying but refuse to admit it." He paused and shrugged. "As if it removes for a moment the fact I am."

"Do you have any family?"

Something dark danced across his face as he leaned back. "…they died, when I was very young."

"I'm sorry. How?"

"In the war."

"War?"

Pearse licked his lips and shifted, staring away from her. Outside, couples milled about and laughed and life passed as he sat watching them from behind the glass. "A private one, the kind you don't really realize is going on till it affects you…or takes something from you."

"I'm sorry." Olivia whispered and then with a respectful pause, she prodded. "Is that why you joined the Church?"

"I found it was the best means to protect myself."

"From?"

"The war." He shrugged a little. "And you? Do you have family here?"

"I was married once…a long time ago." Olivia bowed her head and drew a finger across the rim of her glass. "He, however, found things more important then me and a family."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. The best thing he did was walk on me. It made me see some things about people I never would have seen trapped away inside my little home as a wife." She inclined her head to consider this. "Well that, and give me my babies."

"You have children?"

She nodded. "Two boys. Colm and Philip. Colm helps me around the shop and with some of my more business matters- it's very much a family business what I do- while Philip is more of," And at this point there was a delicate pause as Olivia took on a decidedly matronly appearance. "He's more of an artistic soul."

Pearse arched his brow and smiled. "Aha, children to bribe. At last we're getting somewhere."

"Bribe and why would you need to bribe them?"

"I have every intention of accidentally leaving my wallet here, and coming over to your house tonight. Since that will give you plenty of time to come up with some other way to keep me around, it's only a manner of time before I meet them."

Olivia smiled at him.

"Do they like pizza? I make a wonderful take out…"

"And what makes you think they'd want to meet you?"

"I'll have you know I make a wonderful father." Pearse paused, closed his eyes and snorted. "And what a terrible pun."

"Yes, but your cute when you blush." She laughed at the face he made.

"Oh don't call me cute. You don't call a man cute. It's…belittling."

"However accurate."

Pearse opened his eyes, and met hers. The wine had begun to give him a warm fuzzy feeling. He would have to remember to watch his intake with the medicine. Screwing up his face, he made a sound that sounded somewhere between a meep and wince. "Not cute."

Olivia managed her best sympathy smile as she reached over and patted his arm, empathetically. "Yeah," She told him. "You are."