The Master's Request; Harrison's plans for his birthday.

The boy's head span round immediately, and his almost-blue, greyish eyes were wide and staring.

"Ah, Ford, good timing." He said, pronouncing every syllable with abnormal clarity. Sometimes it was easy to forget you were talking to a child with Harrison. "Come sit next to me." He pointed at the armchair beside the table he was on.

The other servants probably would have been shocked at the young Master's offer, but Ford was used to it. He was treated as an old friend in private company, and was rather comfortable with their conversations. Sometimes almost like a father and son, though he daren't say that to anyone, and would take it happily to the grave.

"What is it, Master Harry?" Ford inquired carefully. Harrison took in a large breath.

"You know  that my birthday is coming up soon, do you not? And I would like a party, of course. A good party." Ford settled slightly in his seat. "But, we do not have one of the requirements for a good party, and I intend to get it." He smiled slightly. Ford watched patiently, then realised he was supposed to say what it was.

"I'm sure your father can provide you with anything you should need for your birthday, Master Harry. He has done in the past, and I'm sure this time he would be pleased to do so again." Ford tried. Harrison frowned sadly and looked away.

"No...." He whispered. Ford leant closer. "...there are some things I must find before I celebrate my days of pre-educational freedom."

Confused yet again, Ford spoke up.

"The things will need to be compact enough for transportation and storage, obviously. Will it be necessary for us to travel in the air to aquire it?" He asked, blanching at the thought. As a young boy himself, Ford had caught an unexpected and incurable case of Vertigo, and couldn't stand heights. Though he could fly a plane, in case of emergency, he became ill at even the thought of riding in one as a passenger. Harrison shook his head, not in the least bit dissapointed at his companion's confusion.

"Friends, Ford. I want friends." He muttered, almost childishly. He even blushed a little as he said it. At the mention of these words, Ford almost burst out saying: 'I'm your friend...', but bit his lip to contain himself. He was, first and foremost, Master Harrison's chauffeur - though he would like to consider his position a little better than that.

"I see now, Master Harry. How silly of me to forget you would need the guests. It hasn't been a requirement so far, because of your young age and the Mistress' planning ability. I apologize." He said smartly. Then he smiled. He was glad the young Master was in a position of wanting friends, whether they be of his own age or older, he wouldn't have any trouble interacting with them. Maybe they would be a little scared of him at first, due to his unnatural abilities, but his heart was as warm as the next man's, under all that brain.

"No need. I shouldn't expect you to know my own thoughts now, should I? But, we must begin immediately. I will tell my mother to plan as normal, but that you and I will be searching for special guests to bring. She trusts you, sure enough, and it will be fine as long as you are near me. I should not bother father...not that he will care..." He said the last part inwardly, grimacing as a picture of his father's blank buisness face flashed through his mind.

Harrison's relationship with his Dad was not a normal one. They treated each other as if they were each other's clients. Only on one occasion had Harrison seen his father smile, and that was when the Italian 'Candle Waxworks' deal had pulled though (and it wasn't even a good job in the first place, Harry had decided at the time).

His father had not been present at his birth, nor at any of the significant moments in his life. But, in some ways, he had given Harrison a role model, a state of being that he must better.

Harrsion had set been infuriated to discover, at the age of one and a half, that this rotting world respected and looked up to a man as common and cold as his own father.

After several quite severe tanrtums, he had sworn (in his own blood if the babysitter and Ford would have let him) that he would surpass his father, whilst retaining a great deal of his emotions and friends. Unlike his Dad, who had stepped on as many people as he had individual socks in his wardrobe. That was a lot of socks.

Presently, Ford was now picking up the books Master Harrison had absent-mindedly pulled from the shelf in his search for something to read. Titles such as 'A History of Molecules' and 'Advanced Evolutionism and Philosophy' passed through his gaze as he returned them.

The family liked the books to be in a genre-specific order, and Mrs. Jennings had been known to grow very angry when she discovered a book was out of place. There were plenty of little quirks in the Jennings household, but that is a story for another time.

Just as he finished, Ford turned back to the young Master to suddenly see him watching his every move. Ford cocked his head curiously, as the young Master's face was oddly pensive.

"I am studying, Ford. I must learn how to interact correctly with others at the correct time, you see." Harrison smiled sheepishly. Ford chuckled, crossing the room, but was stopped by Harrison again.

"Urm, Excuse me. I might need some help, please." The boy raised his eyebrows and peered over the edge of the desk. "It's a lot higher than I first thought..." He trailed off as Ford moved to forward to pick him up.

"I know how you feel." Ford said gruffly. 

The End

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