Ficlet: Memory
*waves* Been a while and trying to get back in the groove, so I bring a short ficlet.
TV!verse
G
Word Count: 613
Pairing/Characters: Bob/Harry, pre-slashiness?
Disclaimer: What I would give... but alas.
Summary: "Will you remember me?"
Notes: I've seen everything from 500 to 900 years old for Bob, so we're going with the latter for this one.
"Hey, Bob," Harry said from his loose-kneed sprawl on the couch. He took another swig of beer, much to Bob's detest; Harry had a tendency to get maudlin when he was drunk. Judging by the scattering of empty bottles on the coffee table, he suspected that any moment now Harry would suddenly start tearfully weeping a ballad of some sort. He shuddered delicately.
"Yes, Harry?" he asked patiently.
"Bob, heeey!" Harry looked up at him with a goofy smile that under no circumstances would Bob ever admit to finding somewhat endearing. "Bob!"
"Yes, Harry, that is my name," he said. After a pause, he added, "Or the one you choose to grace me with anyway. Is there any particular reason why you're repeating it?"
Harry leaned forward, his expression suddenly approaching a drunk kind of earnestness. "Bob, I was thinking--"
"Ah, and you chose to share the occasion with me?"
"I was thinking," Harry repeated, "and you know what?"
"What?" Bob arched one eyebrow. This ought to be good.
"I betcha you don't remember most of your old owners, right?"
Bob considered this. 900 years was a very long time indeed, even for a wizard's extended lifespan. Added to the fact that most of his owners had dabbled in the Black--an action that, for the most part, often resulted in a significantly shorter lifespan than even the average gnat--and he had a string of masters strewn behind him. Some he recalled vividly to mind, others he remembered mostly as leaving him untouched on a shelf until they needed him.
"No," he confirmed slowly, "I don't suppose I remember all of them perfectly."
"Will you remember me?"
Caught off guard, Bob started a little before covering it with a cough and a tug at his waistcoat. "I beg your pardon?"
"You know, a long time from now, when I'm dead and gone, and you've got some new master who's not half as cool as me, will you remember me?" Harry said plaintively. Really, it was most unbecoming for a grown man to hold his alcohol so poorly. You would think he would have learned by now. And those big brown puppy-dog eyes! Shouldn't he have outgrown such cheap tricks, now that he was a grown man, and not a small, eleven-year old boy who had just lost his father?
"I don't suppose I will ever forget you, Harry," Bob said stiffly. His voice gentled some, "Even after another 900 years."
Harry seemed satisfied with this answer and leaned back into the couch cushions. Well, sank, more like, but Bob had long given up trying to remedy the man's posture. "Oh, good." He yawned and sank a little further in, tipping to his side a bit. The bottle fell from lax fingers and rolled across the floor. He murmured sleepily, "I'd hate for you to forget me, Bob."
"How could I? Although, I'd rather not forget you later rather than sooner."
"Hmm?"
"I mean, stop trying to kill yourself going on your ridiculous crusades. I have all the time in the world, but you do not. It's not enough that you have to fight every injustice, but you do so by throwing yourself in the line of fire. And really, Harry, you'll give yourself a crick in the neck sleeping like that--" Bob's lecture was cut off by the light snores coming from his once-pupil. Sighing, he wished once again to be able to tug a blanket down to cover the sleeping man, but settled for brushing his hand gently over his forehead. "No, I doubt anyone could forget you, Harry."
Eyeing the bottle whose contents were now decorating the floor, he added a disdainful sniff. "Though I suspect you won't remember any of this tomorrow."
TV!verse
G
Word Count: 613
Pairing/Characters: Bob/Harry, pre-slashiness?
Disclaimer: What I would give... but alas.
Summary: "Will you remember me?"
Notes: I've seen everything from 500 to 900 years old for Bob, so we're going with the latter for this one.
"Hey, Bob," Harry said from his loose-kneed sprawl on the couch. He took another swig of beer, much to Bob's detest; Harry had a tendency to get maudlin when he was drunk. Judging by the scattering of empty bottles on the coffee table, he suspected that any moment now Harry would suddenly start tearfully weeping a ballad of some sort. He shuddered delicately.
"Yes, Harry?" he asked patiently.
"Bob, heeey!" Harry looked up at him with a goofy smile that under no circumstances would Bob ever admit to finding somewhat endearing. "Bob!"
"Yes, Harry, that is my name," he said. After a pause, he added, "Or the one you choose to grace me with anyway. Is there any particular reason why you're repeating it?"
Harry leaned forward, his expression suddenly approaching a drunk kind of earnestness. "Bob, I was thinking--"
"Ah, and you chose to share the occasion with me?"
"I was thinking," Harry repeated, "and you know what?"
"What?" Bob arched one eyebrow. This ought to be good.
"I betcha you don't remember most of your old owners, right?"
Bob considered this. 900 years was a very long time indeed, even for a wizard's extended lifespan. Added to the fact that most of his owners had dabbled in the Black--an action that, for the most part, often resulted in a significantly shorter lifespan than even the average gnat--and he had a string of masters strewn behind him. Some he recalled vividly to mind, others he remembered mostly as leaving him untouched on a shelf until they needed him.
"No," he confirmed slowly, "I don't suppose I remember all of them perfectly."
"Will you remember me?"
Caught off guard, Bob started a little before covering it with a cough and a tug at his waistcoat. "I beg your pardon?"
"You know, a long time from now, when I'm dead and gone, and you've got some new master who's not half as cool as me, will you remember me?" Harry said plaintively. Really, it was most unbecoming for a grown man to hold his alcohol so poorly. You would think he would have learned by now. And those big brown puppy-dog eyes! Shouldn't he have outgrown such cheap tricks, now that he was a grown man, and not a small, eleven-year old boy who had just lost his father?
"I don't suppose I will ever forget you, Harry," Bob said stiffly. His voice gentled some, "Even after another 900 years."
Harry seemed satisfied with this answer and leaned back into the couch cushions. Well, sank, more like, but Bob had long given up trying to remedy the man's posture. "Oh, good." He yawned and sank a little further in, tipping to his side a bit. The bottle fell from lax fingers and rolled across the floor. He murmured sleepily, "I'd hate for you to forget me, Bob."
"How could I? Although, I'd rather not forget you later rather than sooner."
"Hmm?"
"I mean, stop trying to kill yourself going on your ridiculous crusades. I have all the time in the world, but you do not. It's not enough that you have to fight every injustice, but you do so by throwing yourself in the line of fire. And really, Harry, you'll give yourself a crick in the neck sleeping like that--" Bob's lecture was cut off by the light snores coming from his once-pupil. Sighing, he wished once again to be able to tug a blanket down to cover the sleeping man, but settled for brushing his hand gently over his forehead. "No, I doubt anyone could forget you, Harry."
Eyeing the bottle whose contents were now decorating the floor, he added a disdainful sniff. "Though I suspect you won't remember any of this tomorrow."