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Jaime paced around her father’s study, taking in the sight of the numerous newspapers and their ridiculous headlines. She’d never been able to understand why her dad insisted on collecting The Sun, of all papers, ever since the day she first snuck into his study, but he’d managed to avoid the question for twenty-odd years.
Until, of course, that very night.
Her eyes caught on one particularly obnoxious headline- PM DOING BODYSHOTS?- and raised an eyebrow, pointing to it, and then turning her gaze to her father, who sat in his chair at his desk.
He looked put-together as always, despite the fact that he was wearing only his dress shirt, pinstriped trousers, and of course, the Oxford shoes. Jaime couldn’t remember a time her dad didn’t look a GQ model.
He laughed once he saw the headline, leaning back in his chair with an air of nostalgia about him.
“That was the day I blew up a secret base in Moldovia that was building chemical weapons. Your Uncle Merlin put me through the wringer for that.”
She nodded, as if that were a completely unremarkable statement- she was getting pretty good at taking things in stride, she was glad to say. After all, not everyone would be quite so level-headed if their father had suddenly revealed that he was a spy rather than a tailor, the shop where he worked was actually his headquarters, a position had just recently opened up at his agency, and that he wanted her to join.
Jaime Roxanne Unwin was part of a rare few who could keep it together after hearing all of that.
She pointed to a different paper- THE TRUTH ABOUT BOXERS REVEALED.
“Actually, that one was the morning before your seventeenth birthday. I got you that pretty wristwatch, remember? It was actually a gift to me from a Scandinavian Queen, as thanks for saving her husband from an assassination attempt, but I thought you would like it better.”
“Remind me to write her a thank-you note, then,” she replied, not missing a beat. Her father replied with a wide grin, and Jaime strolled over to the armchair in the corner, plopping down with a happy sigh.
“A true lady would wait to be invited to sit,” he said, not at all reproachfully. She stuck her tongue out at him.
“A true gentleman would have invited me to do so before he sat down himself.”
They both laughed, and when they settled down, it was comfortably quiet. Jaime bit her lip, hesitating about something- and her father, ever observant, noticed.
“What is it? You can ask me whatever you’d like, Jay. No more secrets between us.”
She smiled nervously, toying with the hem of her shirt. “I just… How did you come across all this? Was grandad an agent, or…?”
Something in her father’s expression changed. He suddenly looked somber, almost wistful.
“No, but he was a recruit. For the Lancelot position. He… didn’t quite make it.”
Jaime closed her gaping mouth- she knew that her grandfather had died many years before she was even born, but to know now that it was connected to what her father did for a living… It was hard to not get suddenly nervous.
“He saved lives, though,” he added, taking in her anxious look. “He would’ve been an incredible agent.”
“I’m sure,” she said, relaxing only marginally. “But… if it wasn’t grandad, then who proposed you…?”
He sighed. “The same man who nominated my dad was the one to nominate me. For the very same position, too.”
Jaime frowned, confused. She knew very well by that point that her Aunt Roxy was the agent codenamed Lancelot. And besides that…
“But… weren’t you Galahad? Before you got promoted to Arthur?”
“I was. It’s a very long story, Jaime… Perhaps I can tell it to you another time.”
“Okay…” Jaime fidgeted a few more times before daring to ask more. “So… this man. Who was he?”
He replied while staring at his long-since emptied glass of scotch, like he was contemplating refilling it. “The Galahad before me. His name was Harry Hart.”
Jaime paused; judging from her father’s tone, this ‘Harry’ was probably dead. Especially considering that her father took up his mantle, and she’d never heard of a Harry Hart at all growing up.
“I’m sorry, dad,” she offered, unsure of what else to say. “What… What was he like?”
He gave her a sad smile. “He was incredible. You should have seen him, Jaime. Absolutely lethal in combat, but still the classiest motherfucker I’ve ever met. Taught me about the Oxfords, you know. And everything else I learned- that I didn’t already get from my training- came from him.”
“Sounds like you were close,” Jaime observed.
“Well, we really only knew each other for a few months.” He leaned back in his chair, looking at the headlines surrounding them. “… But still, when he died… I was devastated.”
She nodded, empathetic. “Of course. It must have been like losing your father all over again.”
He glanced at her, lips quirking up, much to her surprise. “It was like losing a mentor, yes. But… I felt much more for Harry than just that.”
And she suddenly understood his meaning. A subconscious blush rose to her cheeks. “… Oh. You mean, you…”
His response was curt, yet quiet. “Yeah. I loved him.”
“Dad…” Jaime couldn’t help the pity that crept into her voice. But honestly? To lose your mentor and the man you loved, all in one fell swoop?
“It’s been over twenty years,” he said, smiling tiredly. “I’m alright, Jaime, really. Besides… never got to find out if he ever felt the same. Probably for the best that I didn’t. I was nearly half his age, what were the chances of him ever seeing me like that?”
She frowned, fidgeting in her seat. She'd often asked (in a teasing manner) why her father was never one for dating or romance. He'd insisted it was because he was proving a point about single dads. Now she began to think it was because he'd already lost the love of his life. Harry Hart must've been something else.
“Still… Don’t you ever wonder?”
“Of course I do. Harry was wonderful. I would have been the luckiest fucking man on earth if he loved me. But a bullet to the head tends to put a stopper on fantasies like that.”
Jaime swallowed nervously. Her father watched her carefully for a few moments before he stood up, crossing to her side of the room and kneeling next to her. He took her hands in his own, looking up at her with his green, green eyes, worn from age but still shockingly piercing.
“Jaime,” he spoke, tone low and serious. “I want you to know, no matter how it goes tomorrow, during that final test, whatever the outcome… I will always be proud of you.”
She managed a weak smile. “I know, dad. You only tell me that every day.”
“Because I don’t want a day to go by where you think I’m ever disappointed in you,” he continued, something fervent- and almost scared- in his expression. “You’re my darling girl, and even if you don’t become the next Galahad, I will never stop being proud of you. Alright?”
Despite herself, Jaime felt tears well up in her eyes. Her dad had always been sentimental, but this was a new level. She blinked, willing the tears back, and nodded.
“Alright, Dad.”
He smiled one last time and stood up. He pressed a light kiss to her hairline, like he used to do all the time when she was a kid. “You should get some rest. I’m taking you to the shop tomorrow morning.”
She looked up at him, more confusion reading in her features. “But I’ve been to the shop before.”
He threw her a wink, though it lacked its usual charm. Something like wistfulness flickered through his eyes.
“Not in fitting room three.”