Work Text:
Really, Harry had no reason to follow Scott Norris to the bar.
But the thing was, in the past nine or ten years shadowing the Norris family, he had noticed that Scott was the strong one, the one who kept it together when everything fell apart; and after the events of the past month, Harry couldn't help but to feel...concerned.
His charge walked into the bar and sat down, ordering a drink and then just stared down at it when it arrived.
He had only meant to observe, as he always had, but after a few moments he suddenly found himself walking into the bar and sitting on the stool next to Scott.
After sitting in silence for a moment, trying to figure out what to say, he finally turned and said, "Hey, man, you okay?"
Scott started, obviously not expecting someone to talk to him, before answering with a reflexive, "Yeah." Then he paused, shutting his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath before shaking his head and continuing, "I...don't know why I said that. No, I'm not okay."
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, wishing he didn't know exactly what the answer to that question was.
"Everything, basically." Scott said, no irony or exaggeration in his voice, "Earlier this month my older son overdosed, and last week my wife died in a hit-and-run, and my other son is ten and -- " his voice cracked, and he stopped talking abruptly, blinking fast as he looked away.
Harry had done his best to ignore the knot in his stomach since the overdose, and he had been fairly successful overall, but he was suddenly very aware of the fact that what he was feeling was guilt.
He reminded himself that it was necessary, that it was according to the plan, but sitting next to someone who had suffered horrible losses because of it...
After a bit, he managed to force out an awkward, stilted, "I'm sorry for your loss."
"No, I'm sorry." Scott replied, briefly laughing, though there was no real humor to it, "I'm sure you didn't come to this bar to hear about some stranger's shitty luck."
He turned his attention back to his drink, and Harry realized the man was politely ending the conversation.
"Oh -- no, it's fine. I don't mind."
That made Scott turn, surprised, "Really?"
"Yeah. Seems like you need someone to talk to."
"That obvious, huh?" He offered a sad, tired smile that faded fast. "David, my 10-year-old, he's - he's taking this really hard. Understandably."
Harry nodded, and said something like 'yeah' or 'of course'.
"He's getting in trouble at school, picking fights with everyone, and I know I have to do something so he doesn't end up like -- " Scott started blinking fast again for a few moments, and it suddenly clicked in Harry's mind that his charge was keeping himself from crying. "I just wanna know that my son's gonna be okay, whatever it takes. But I don't know what to do."
There was a long silence, and Harry looked away, a lump in his throat.
"Look," he finally forced himself to say, "you can handle this. I know it seems horrible and impossible, but...you can handle it."
"You think so?" Scott asked, tentative hope in his voice.
"Yeah. And just -- be there for your son. "
While you can, Harry thought, immediately feeling even more sick to his stomach.
"Maybe some time away would be good," Scott murmured, "I've always wanted to visit DC."