12. Melancholy / Bob othe Skull
Title: Brittle Bones
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters: Bob, Harry
Prompt: 12. Melancholy
Word Count: 744
Rating: PG
Summary: Bob is brooding and Harry wants to know why.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Notes: Spoilers for Walls.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
Harry plucked the single reddish brown hair from the plastic baggy with a pair of tweezers. "This better be enough. It's all I could get my hands on," he said as he prepared to drop the filament into the potion.
The absence of a caustic retort made him look up from the mixture bubbling within the copper bowl. He could barely see Bob, standing as he was in the darkest corner of the lab. Instead of observing the proceedings, his back was to Harry, his head slightly bowed as if deep in thought.
"Bob?"
The ghost slowly lifted his head then turned to face him. Whatever emotion had resided on those lean features a moment before schooled itself to reveal nothing. "Yes?"
"A little help here?"
"Your pardon." Bob took a step toward the work table and peered down at the tweezers. "That should be more than enough material, provided you haven't handled it overlong," he said in the emotionless tone of a textbook.
Harry frowned. "What's eating you?"
"I'd say worms," Bob replied tersely, "But I imagine even they have lost interest in my mortal remains by now."
The retort was half-hearted at best and did not carry the wry amusement that often accompanied a riposte to one of Harry's straight lines.
"This appears a simple enough location spell," he continued stiffly. "I doubt you need me to hold your hand. I'll be in my skull if you-"
"Something's bothering you," insisted Harry, carefully setting tweezers and hair on the plastic baggy.
"I assure you, there is nothing that-"
"Tell me."
"Is that a command?"
"No," said Harry evenly. "It's a request." Sometimes he wished the ghost were corporeal enough to throttle. "You've been moping around here ever since that mess with Caleb and the Hand of Glory. You still thinking I made a mistake helping Dante?"
"Of course not," Bob bristled, indignant. "As much as I hate to admit it, I was in error. What the boy did, he did with the best of intentions - misguided though they were."
"Then what? Because obviously something about that case is bothering you."
The ghost did not reply immediately. Instead, he reached out and passed a spectral hand through the skull that sat grinning from a shelf behind the work table. His fingers felt nothing as they ghosted through the dry, aged bone.
"Have you ever considered it?" he asked cryptically.
"Considered what?"
"Destroying me."
Harry looked from the skull to the soul that had once animated it. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's simple enough to do, I imagine," continued Bob conversationally. "Once you successfully negate the protective wardings, a simple hammer should do the trick. Or one good whack with your wizard's staff ought to--"
"Stop it!" snapped Harry then threw up his hands in frustration. "I don't want to hear this shit, Bob. Not from anyone and most of all not from you."
"As I recall, we were discussing this very topic only a few days ago," the ghost reminded him. "It didn't seem to disturb you then." Which, after some thought and time to brood, had led Bob to conclude that Harry must have considered the topic before; a realization that had wounded him deeply, although he would never have admitted as much aloud.
"We were discussing how to destroy Caleb."
"True, but I distinctly remember-"
"Shut up, Bob," ordered Harry and jabbed a finger at the skull on the shelf. "I have never wanted to destroy your skull. Throw it across the room or out a window? Yeah, lots of times, because you can be one annoying, cranky sonofabitch, but never that." In fact, the only thing he had ever truly wanted to do with Bob's skull was find a way to break the curse that bound it.
"Not even once?" the ghost asked, clearly skeptical.
"It never crossed my mind. Not until last week, anyway, and like I said -- that was about Caleb, not you."
"Really."
"Really," said Harry. "Have I ever lied to you?"
"Quite a number of times."
"About anything important?"
Bob began to reply then hesitated. "No," he admitted at last.
"There you go, then," said Harry, as if that settled things. "Now get your spooky ass over here and help me with this potion, will ya?"
"Of course. I am your humble servant," replied Bob, for the moment mollified.
Harry snorted as he reclaimed the tweezers. "As if."
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters: Bob, Harry
Prompt: 12. Melancholy
Word Count: 744
Rating: PG
Summary: Bob is brooding and Harry wants to know why.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Notes: Spoilers for Walls.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
Harry plucked the single reddish brown hair from the plastic baggy with a pair of tweezers. "This better be enough. It's all I could get my hands on," he said as he prepared to drop the filament into the potion.
The absence of a caustic retort made him look up from the mixture bubbling within the copper bowl. He could barely see Bob, standing as he was in the darkest corner of the lab. Instead of observing the proceedings, his back was to Harry, his head slightly bowed as if deep in thought.
"Bob?"
The ghost slowly lifted his head then turned to face him. Whatever emotion had resided on those lean features a moment before schooled itself to reveal nothing. "Yes?"
"A little help here?"
"Your pardon." Bob took a step toward the work table and peered down at the tweezers. "That should be more than enough material, provided you haven't handled it overlong," he said in the emotionless tone of a textbook.
Harry frowned. "What's eating you?"
"I'd say worms," Bob replied tersely, "But I imagine even they have lost interest in my mortal remains by now."
The retort was half-hearted at best and did not carry the wry amusement that often accompanied a riposte to one of Harry's straight lines.
"This appears a simple enough location spell," he continued stiffly. "I doubt you need me to hold your hand. I'll be in my skull if you-"
"Something's bothering you," insisted Harry, carefully setting tweezers and hair on the plastic baggy.
"I assure you, there is nothing that-"
"Tell me."
"Is that a command?"
"No," said Harry evenly. "It's a request." Sometimes he wished the ghost were corporeal enough to throttle. "You've been moping around here ever since that mess with Caleb and the Hand of Glory. You still thinking I made a mistake helping Dante?"
"Of course not," Bob bristled, indignant. "As much as I hate to admit it, I was in error. What the boy did, he did with the best of intentions - misguided though they were."
"Then what? Because obviously something about that case is bothering you."
The ghost did not reply immediately. Instead, he reached out and passed a spectral hand through the skull that sat grinning from a shelf behind the work table. His fingers felt nothing as they ghosted through the dry, aged bone.
"Have you ever considered it?" he asked cryptically.
"Considered what?"
"Destroying me."
Harry looked from the skull to the soul that had once animated it. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's simple enough to do, I imagine," continued Bob conversationally. "Once you successfully negate the protective wardings, a simple hammer should do the trick. Or one good whack with your wizard's staff ought to--"
"Stop it!" snapped Harry then threw up his hands in frustration. "I don't want to hear this shit, Bob. Not from anyone and most of all not from you."
"As I recall, we were discussing this very topic only a few days ago," the ghost reminded him. "It didn't seem to disturb you then." Which, after some thought and time to brood, had led Bob to conclude that Harry must have considered the topic before; a realization that had wounded him deeply, although he would never have admitted as much aloud.
"We were discussing how to destroy Caleb."
"True, but I distinctly remember-"
"Shut up, Bob," ordered Harry and jabbed a finger at the skull on the shelf. "I have never wanted to destroy your skull. Throw it across the room or out a window? Yeah, lots of times, because you can be one annoying, cranky sonofabitch, but never that." In fact, the only thing he had ever truly wanted to do with Bob's skull was find a way to break the curse that bound it.
"Not even once?" the ghost asked, clearly skeptical.
"It never crossed my mind. Not until last week, anyway, and like I said -- that was about Caleb, not you."
"Really."
"Really," said Harry. "Have I ever lied to you?"
"Quite a number of times."
"About anything important?"
Bob began to reply then hesitated. "No," he admitted at last.
"There you go, then," said Harry, as if that settled things. "Now get your spooky ass over here and help me with this potion, will ya?"
"Of course. I am your humble servant," replied Bob, for the moment mollified.
Harry snorted as he reclaimed the tweezers. "As if."