Reaching as I Fall, my first Dresden Files slash fic
Reaching as I Fall
Author: Doec
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry and Bob finally open up about their true feelings, but where to go from here? A willing volunteer is needed to help them bridge their troublesome gap.
For the fourth time that week, Harry Dresden woke up in the night, struggling with his covers, crying out for his resident ghost. Without fail, Hrothbert of Bainbridge, otherwise known as Bob, drew to his side to find his master in the grips of another nightmare.
“Harry, wake up, it's just a bad dream.”
The sharp command in his voice melted to tenderness as he added, “I'm here.” When his master came to fully, he stared Bob in the face, reaching out for him. Stopping in time before his fingers passed through his friend's face, Harry falls back, realization hitting him again, dragging him down in disappointment.
“God, Bob...I'm sorry,” he grumbled.
“Quite all right, Harry,” the older man replied sympathetically, finding himself reaching for his former student in the same way. It was in those unguarded moments that it's so easy to forget, and that made the truth all the more painful.
Harry shook his head, “It's not all right, Bob, none of this is all right.”
He reached over and turned on the lamp on his nightstand. Now able to see better, he stared up at his old mentor, literally feasting his eyes on the fair man. The frustration on both of their faces was clear, mirroring each other perfectly. Despite knowing it's impossible, they look ready to act on their shared impulse to lunge at each other in a fierce embrace.
“I understand,” Bob answers dismally. The problem of not being able to touch anyone or anything had been an inconvenience over the centuries, yes, but until young Harry had been placed in his care it had never been the cause for heartbreak.
“Harry, I...”
Again, his fingers stretch out, wishing to caress the wizard's cheek. Harry actually closes his eyes, as though he expects to feel it any moment, but all he feels is the frigid shock that makes him involuntarily jump back with a shudder. Now not remotely tired, Harry sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as Bob cringes back, glaring at his fingers, cursing himself for causing his love pain.
“I didn't mean to. I couldn't help it. I only wanted to...”
“I know. I know, Bob.”
Still, neither man comes out and says it. They face each other from across the room, each cradling his head in frustration.
“It's all we can have,” Bob observes. “At least you feel something. It's not me...not the way I was, but...”
Harry looks up at him sorrowfully, “You don't feel anything, do you? Not even the cold.” Bob shakes his head, tears streaming from his eyes now, gasping helplessly. “God, Bob, don't cry. I...” he stands, steps towards him. Whispers, “I love you.”
A smile springs instantly to his tear-streaked face, Bob sobs shortly, but is still overjoyed at his protégé's confession. “Really?” He breathes as his heart melts, sending warm tingles all over his non-corporeal form. He claps a hand to his mouth as the tears come harder now.
“Really,” Harry tells him, wanting nothing more than to take him into his arms, fighting the urge to hold them open to the man.
“My dear boy. You're the only person in nearly a thousand years that I've loved. I...I...” Removed from his usual arsenal of sarcasm, he almost sounds effeminate. To Harry it looks like Bob is moments away from nuzzling his collarbone and kicking a heel up like a romantic leading lady from the 30's. The image brings a grin to Harry's face.
“How...how did this happen?”
“Is it new for you?” Bob asks curiously. He'd felt this strange, special way for the wizard for years now. He'd resigned himself to simply be his friend, mentor, assistant...whatever he'd have him as. He'd never imagined that Harry would feel the same way, feel just as frustrated by their bound togetherness yet eternal separation.
“I guess I never thought about it, it just felt natural. Being with you...I know I give you a hard time and you give it right back, but I'm, I'm happier with you. You're my best friend, you're my family. You're all I've got left, the only person left on Earth who gives a rip about me.”
Bob nods, “Likewise.” He looks down at his hands again in disgust, feeling very much a monster. “I knew you were different since you were young. You always treated me like a person, like I mattered. Like I was alive.” His eyes drift closed and he smiles at a memory. “You actually made me forget my curse from time to time.”
“Really?” Bob nods earnestly, that joyous, lovesick smile still lingering on his wet face. “Please don't cry, Bob,” Harry coaxes yet again.
He tries to obey, wiping his eyes, sniffling, exhaling sharply to get any remaining sobs out of his system.
“I would be so happy right now, you know. I only wish I could hold you. It's all I've ever wanted.”
Thinking back over the years, Harry can think of a few dozen times that he'd felt the same way. “Yeah, me, too.” Both men sigh.
“You'd better try to get back to sleep, it's late, or should I say early?” Bob's nurturing nature comes clearly across in his suggestion. “I'll see you in the morning.”
“Yeah...” Harry yawns. “Good night, Bob. Thanks.”
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A few hours later, Bob hears his master awaken, and is suddenly worried. They'd just bared their hearts to each other in the wee hours of the night. Do they acknowledge it, or pretend it never happened? Bob wrings his ghostly hands, pacing in the lab, wondering how to play it. He hears footsteps thundering down the stairs. How such a lightly-built nimble man as Harry Dresden could stomp like a herd of elephants is beyond him. Harry will be in the kitchen now, this is his chance...
He steps out through the wall, approaches him hesitantly. With his hands folded up in front of his chest to keep them from fidgeting, he ventures.
“I hope you slept well...Dear?” a spectral blush rises to his barely-existent cheeks as he utters the word, yet his heart sings. To his relief, Harry smiles at him.
“Morning, Bob.” His gaze lingers longer than it used to, drinking in the sight of the pale blond man. “Yeah, I did. Thanks.” He fiddles anxiously with his coffee cup, trying for the life of him to remember how their morning routine used to go so he could pick up the thread. Oh yes, exchanging insolent, sarcastic remarks with each other, and wrap it all up by bickering like an old married couple...Harry chuckles aloud at the comparison. “Got anything going in the lab today?”
Bob's mind goes blank; he was certain he'd had something to show him, something he'd been quite keen to share and discuss, but it's completely gone. Harry sees his look of consternation with amusement. It's not often he'd been able to render the usually suave and knowledgeable ghost speechless. Quick, think of something normal to say before it gets out of hand, he orders himself. He sits down to drink his coffee, looking up over the rim of his cup.
“Ah, I'm sure it can wait, my English muffin.” Both men wince.
“Is that really the best you can do?” Bob questions, sounding every bit like his usual self as he stalks up to him, bending down so they're face to face.
“Hey, I'm new at this, all right? Give me a chance, I'm sure I'll think of something better...my English muffin.” Harry reaches out, stopping just short of his friend's face, suggesting a contact-free caress.
“You're absolutely terrible,” Bob mutters, hands on his hips, surveying him with a not-very-convincing pout.
“All we need now is to get you a body, nothing against that one of course,” Harry admits, still surprised at how normal it feels to be this attracted to the older man. It had always been there, he realizes now, but he'd never acknowledged it.
Not having any other real friends, he'd assumed that it was how normal men must feel for their guy friends. Not quite, it seems, as his more rousing dreams as of late involved steamy make-out sessions with his former teacher. He wanted to feel his body next to his, feel his lips, his eyelashes against his cheek...Harry startles himself with the vividness of his desires. Yes, all that and more.
Bob smiles indulgently, allowing his ego to be stroked. He always had a bit of a vain streak about him, it's nice to hear that others enjoy the view. He makes a show of examining his jacket cuffs, straightening them theatrically. “Glad you approve, it served me well in life. It's a pity it's no use to anyone now.”
“Are there any spells you know of that might work? I'm serious. Even just a loaner would be nice, wouldn't it?”
Bob is taken aback by how Harry is addressing their problem head-on. “Well, there's always possession, but I refuse to jump into just anybody.”
“Why?” Harry asks.
“Well, among other things, it would be a profound breach of etiquette. I may be dead and cursed for all eternity, but I'm not a barbarian.” Bob huffs with his arms crossed over his chest.
Considering this, the wizard thinks it over some more.
“What if it was someone willing? A volunteer?”
Adopting his favorite sarcastic tone with his would-be lover, Bob sweeps his hand out in front of him, a shimmering golden advertisement sparkles before them and he reads it aloud: “Wanted, one human subject for temporary housing of a cursed spirit. Pay negotiable.” Both men laugh over this before Bob waves a hand through it, erasing it before someone peeked in the window and happened to see their unusual bill. Then Bob draws a little golden heart in the air and floats it to Harry, who shoots an arrow through it, etching their initials in its middle.
“Oh, Harry...” Bob sighs. “Do you really think that it could work? The High Council--”
“Can deal with it. It's the least they owe you. It's not dark magic if your subject is willing. It's just kind of weird. Right?”
“Well, when you put it that way...But who?”
“That's the question.” Harry thinks hard. Both men know that Harry has very few people who can stand him, let alone count as friends. Even provided they find a willing host, how would they prepare them for such a venture? Too many things to go wrong. It was a false hope, after all, Bob decides.
“It was a nice idea, anyway,” Bob allows, looking uncharacteristically demure. He hadn't gotten his hopes too high, at least.
Rather than admitting defeat, Harry springs up into action. He makes a purposeful dash into the lab with his new quasi-boyfriend at his heels, kneels down and starts searching through volumes of ancient and frowned-upon rituals. He flips open some dry, crumbling pages, feeling like it's getting close, like he's on the right track.
“Can you believe that there are people, couples out there, who are free to touch each other whenever and however they want, and they either choose not to or they take it for granted? It's not fair. Not to you, especially.”
“Harry, you're not serious,” Bob admonishes sternly. Harry looks up at him to take in his disapproving expression. Strange that the sight of his mentor looking displeased with him was so attractive. Maybe it's simply because it's so familiar. He remembers countless times as a child, seeing Bob standing over him just like he is now: frowning, arms crossed in annoyance at his inability to grasp whatever concept he'd just been lecturing about. This was his Bob, through and through.
“I am, I'm sick of this. Even if it's only temporary,” he stands to face the man, marking his place with a finger. “I've told you how I feel, Bob, now I want to show you. So do you. You don't think I see? That it's been hurting you for this long?”
Unable to answer, and touched beyond words, the ghost simply looks at him with his pale green eyes, placing a hand over his mouth.
“Don't get weepy on me again, English Muffin. I need your help.”
“Only if you promise that you'll never call me that again.”
His irritation is mostly put on. Secretly, he finds Harry's lack of elegance to be somewhat endearing. If that means being saddled with a puerile nickname, so be it. Besides, Bob supposes the more he objects to it, the more likely it is that the name will stick.
==========================================================
With no clients to break up the day, Bob reads instructions from the ancient manual as Harry scrambles to obey. Hours later, it looks like they're finally finished.
“There we have it,” Bob finally announces, with the self-congratulatory air of someone who did all the work. “Our volunteer, if we manage to get one, will stand in that circle there, and that should be all there is to it. I'll be drawn into them and we'll have two hours to...do whatever,” he finishes vaguely, his hands spread out before him. Harry sinks down into his couch with a growling sigh. Preparing the area had worn him out, it tapped every magical reserve he had. The older gentleman crosses the room to stand over the exhausted wizard. “Harry, even if this doesn't work, even if we don't find someone. Thank you for trying. For everything.”
Harry smiles weakly, stroking the rune-etched skull, the closest thing he's had to actually touching his beloved.
“It'll work, Bob, we'll find someone. Might not be today or tomorrow, but sometime.”
“Let's hope you don't outgrow me in the meantime.”
“Hey, if I die waiting, we can be ghosts together. Forever.”
Again, the dead man's heart swells at the thought, that Harry might choose to spend eternity with him. Maybe even move into his skull. He wonders if there was room for two to fit comfortably. It's more of a bachelor skull, really. Awfully dusty in there, too. Could do with some sprucing up, I'm starting to let things slide... If it was possible, such circumstances would make his cursed state virtually moot. But there's the possibility that the offer wasn't entirely genuine, meant more figuratively than literally. Even if he didn't really mean it, it was nice to hear.
They spend the rest of the evening just talking, each feeling friendlier towards the other without the need to revert to their old habits of one-up-man-ship and cynical observations of each other's inadequacies. They take the occasional jab, but...then they both realize, they'd been sublimating their true feelings for each other into their old degrading patter. In all the times Bob had questioned Harry's intelligence, or Harry mocked Bob's inability move a pencil if he wanted to, they'd been trying to say “I love you”.
“So what's the first thing you're gonna do when you get a body?”
Bob leans in, puts on a very naughty inflection, and murmurs, “I'm going to cuddle you so hard,” and both men laugh. That was the most satisfying thing that either of them can imagine at the moment.
“Well, regardless of who we snag, I'll be picturing you the whole time. Just like this.” He casts an admiring look at him; his pearlecent skin, piercing green eyes that seem like they can see through walls, silky-looking white-blond hair, and as always, the whole package is wrapped up in impeccably tailored suit. Beautiful...
Bob purses his lips suggestively, “What if we found some leggy blonde bombshell with...” he gestures in the air, indicating a buxom figure.
Harry sniggers. “Especially then. There's only one blond I want, don't forget that.” He punctuates this by bringing his fingers up by Bob's cheek. He holds them there for the seconds, both men imagining that they're touching. “Dammit, Bob, was it really this easy? Could it have been?”
“Well, I know how you like to do things the hard way,” Bob replies, “Far be it from me to interfere.”
“Thanks.”
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The next day is moderately eventful, a handful of consultations, though none of them requiring anything more extensive than a protective charm or herb bundle, and two total nutcases. Then, completely unexpectedly-they don't get many walk-ins-Lieutenant Murphy lets herself in, the bell over the door announces her arrival.
“Harry? Harry are you here?”
Back in the lab, Harry and Bob are reading together, getting a handle on mixing business with pleasure. Hearing his cop friend out in front, he goes to meet her.
“Hey, Murphy, got an assignment for me?”
She's wandering around his office with a familiarity that would suggest she owned the place.
“No, nothing like that, just checking in on you. I didn't get a single crazed phone call in the past two days, I was getting worried. Thought you might be dead!” She gives him a clever smirk, backing up without paying attention to where she was going.
Harry sees her path and walks up to get her to change course.“Great, Murphy, real cute. Hey, stop that. Stop right there. You're about to step in-Dammit!”
Murphy had backed into the golden circle and let out a gasp. “What's going on, what did you do? What's happen...ahh!” she groans. Bob is automatically whisked into her body, pressing against her soul. In the next moment, he takes control, speaks with her voice, but with his own distinct inflection and even his accent. “Dear god, not her! How did you get her to agree to this?”
Then, a change, it's Murphy again, “Agree?” she asks weakly, “I didn't agree to anything!”
“My dear lady, is it your habit to wander around rooms, stepping on whatever strange symbols are in your path, without consideration for the consequences?”
Murphy puts a hand over her mouth, bring it down to her throat, “Dresden, what the hell is going on?”
Harry has been watching this unfold with an awkward expression, this couldn't have gone further from the plan.
“Uh, Murph? I'd like you to meet my friend...”
“Hrothbert of Bainbridge, but you can call me Bob.” Murphy crouches down in the circle, hyperventilating. “Please, don't panic. Stop panicking, dear lady. Harry has spoken most highly of you. Harry, help, please?”
Harry watches signs of the internal struggle going on in their unexpected and involuntary host. He gets down on all fours to get at eye level with her. “Murphy, Bob. Bob, Murphy.” He briefly introduces. “Friends now?”
“God, Harry, is that really the best you can do? She's frightened, she's very frightened, please talk some sense to her.” He's silenced as his unwilling host claps a hand over her mouth again. He looks up pleadingly at his longtime friend. There's a long pause where all is quiet.
“He's in me,” Murphy gasps, looking like she's beginning to calm down. “He's inside me. I hear him!” She holds her head, taking deep, slow breaths.
At once, her carriage changes, she stands up fluidly, with her hands on her hips, looking loftily annoyed.
“Most astutely observed, madam. Now will you please calm yourself so we can explain!”
It's this last thing that makes Harry try to smother a laugh, and fail. Seeing Bob clearly dominating the battle for control of Connie Murphy's body, and wearing her so well, has to be the funniest thing he'd seen in ages. Standing too quickly causes Bob to falter a bit, and Harry jumps forward...and they're in each other's arms. “Oh, god...” Bob sighs, cuddling into his beloved. He stares at his hands, resting against his protégé's shoulder, reaches up and clasps his arms around Harry's neck, panting with desire, with longing set ablaze. “Harry, look at us. Look at me. No, better yet, picture me. But it worked, it really worked!” Tears flow freely again, and they just hold each other. “And you're so much taller than I am.” He sounds nicely irritated by this fact. Still, the younger man gazes down, obediently imagining he's in the arms of the handsome blond wizard who'd taught him everything he knows.
“Hey, can't have everything.” Harry snarkily replies, before being overcome with emotion himself. He'd promised not to cry, but it looks like nothing's going according to plan today. He sniffles and tries to scrub tears away, then leans in close, pulling his two friends in tighter around the middle, getting a delighted squeal from one of them-he can guess who. “Murphy, can you hear me?” He feels her nod with a slight whimper. “I'm really sorry about this, I don't know how I'm going to make it up to you, but just think on that. You name it, all right?”
“What's happening? Why am I...are you...?” she tries to pull away but stops herself with a short protesting moan. She finds herself clinging hard to Dresden, unable to explain her loss of control over her body. “Why can't I...?”
“Because someone else is sharing the driver's seat with you, and he doesn't want to let go of me.”
“He doesn't want to?” Then she hears the voice again, Bob's voice, this time it's not out loud but inside her head-- Precisely, madam. We have precious little time, the clock is ticking and you'll have your body back just the way you left it. Until then, I'm..borrowing it, you might say.
You're Bob? Harry talks about you. Sounds like he's known you forever. Still not understanding what's going on, she's compelled to snuggle into her colleague’s arms. What are you doing to me?
Believe me, this isn't how we'd planned it, Lieutenant Murphy. But I've wanted this, we've wanted this for so long...
Murphy feels Dresden stroking her hair, kissing her, calling her by Bob's name, layering it with nonsense love-words. She feels Bob weeping with joy, as she with confusion.
“You two still fighting in there? Come on, Murphy, let him surface. I know it's weird, but just go with it.”
Again, Bob wrests control and smiles sweetly up at him, touching Harry's face, running fingers through his hair. You're just possessed, it'll be over soon It's going to be all right, madam, just relax. And from the bottom of our hearts, thank you so much for your cooperation and your...hospitality.
Hospitality? She thinks, bewildered, then finds her lips press against Harry Dreden's, her right leg kicks up behind her as Bob laps him up hungrily.
“Oh, please, oh, please,” both men seem to chant together, touching each other's faces, touching hands, loving every allowable inch of each other.
The next thing they know, Murphy is whimpering, sniveling pathetically...and then Bob knows.
Oh, you poor thing. Does he know?
No.
Why didn't you say anything? We would've stopped. We would've waited it out and used someone else. We might be wizards but we're not monsters.
You love him.
Yes, and so do you, Murphy.
Then let him love me as you, it's all I can hope for. You're a lucky man.
Madam, I am deceased. What's more, I'm cursed for all time.
Yeah, but look what you have. Is that what you needed me for, to touch him? Must be hard to love someone you can't touch.
Harry hasn't stopped kissing and caressing in this time, and is leading them to the couch for the promised “hard core cuddling”. Then he hears Bob speak--
“Harry, don't. No more, we can't take it.”
If it had sounded like Murphy, he would've quit right there. But the tone and the accent gave it away. He drew it out a bit more to tease.
“That depends. Is that Murphy talking? Or is it my English Muffin?”
You're his English Muffin?
I know. Terrible, isn't it? I thought I taught the boy better than that. But Bob is pleased to hear Murphy's internal laughter at his ridiculous pet name.
It's cute.
“It's both of us, Harry. I can't in good conscience continue to take advantage--” and he's cut off as Murphy steals a kiss for herself. She holds onto him as fiercely as Bob had in the beginning. When she breaks it off, Harry stares at her, dumbfounded.
“Bob? Muffin?”
He shakes his head, absently running his fingers through his dark curly locks. “Wasn't me, dear,” he stammers.
“Murphy?”
She blushes, breathing heavily, nodding her confession.
“Didn't want Bob to have all the fun. Look, I had no idea you were...” and her tone changes mid-sentence as Bob interrupts her. “Gay? Well, I know Harry isn't too keen on prancing around in drag, or following Broadway musicals, and he's certainly not too sharp a dresser...”
“Enough, Bob, she gets the point!”
In return, Bob flashes him exaggerated googly eyes, waving his hands in the air, mocking his reaction. Again, he looks too much like himself in a different body, he wears her skin perfectly. Harry shakes his head with a smirk, takes Bob's hand and draws him in. “I'm sorry, Murphy.” and plants a kiss on it, bringing it up to his face.
If Murphy had pondered at any point during this experience if these two were going to have sex using her body, and why they hadn't already, she has her answer by Bob's reaction to his hand being held. He'd been removed from the physical world for so long that any contact was perceived as sensual pleasure. To be held, kissed, to be simply physically loved like this, was as much as Bob could take.
Harry nuzzles an ear, purring, “I love you, Hrothbert of Bainbridge. And I really hope we can be friends after this, Connie Murphy.”
Bob speaks in a low voice, “We're hurting her. Both of us. It's killing her to be like this. She never meant for you to find out.”
“It'll go away,” Murphy insists. “I'll be all right. I might just need to not see you for a while.”
Harry nods, stroking her cheek, picturing Bob's face with a stab of longing. “Yeah, that's fine, I understand.” They sit together, hand in hand in hand, unsure of what to say. Then out of nowhere Bob blubbers a bit more, reaches up to stroke his love's face, his hair, kissing and nuzzling his forehead, trying to store up enough physical memory of him to last him after this is all over. He keeps thinking repeated apologies to their facilitator, who is riding the wave of emotions within them both. Her heart is flooded with Bob's and her own love, she can almost sense his long removal, his loneliness, his frustration. How very much this means to be able to touch.
============================================================================
“Hey, Murph? Bob? You guys hungry?”
This get's Bob's undivided attention. He'd sated certain physical desires, yes, but there are more to fill...”
“Just to warn you, Murphy, Bob hasn't eaten in a few centuries,” Harry tells her 'confidentially' with a wink.
“Oh, god, he's going to make me fat, isn't he?”
Then they stand up together, Bob is clearly in charge, scurrying into the kitchen.
“Some advice, madam, in my day men found ladies most attractive with a bit of meat on them. I still don't understand this strange vogue of looking starved to death.”
“How long until this wears off?” Murphy asks worriedly as they're planted firmly at the kitchen table.
“Relax, it's just another hour. I won't even make you stay to do the dishes.”
“I can do a lot in an hour,” Bob promises unsympathetically. “Oh, I'm going to miss this!”
He sounds so absolutely pitiful that Murphy warms up to him a little more, and feels a bit more giving towards him. Earlier that evening, Dresden had thrown a pot of beef stew and a batch of fresh bread in the oven, and despite their best intentions, they can't keep their hands off of each other while they wait for it to finish up. Knowing in such a short time they'll be separated again, most likely permanently, Bob fusses.
“I want to stay. I wish I could have been me, but she cares for you, too. All three of us could win.” He suggests with a hopeful smile.
Harry shakes his head, cuddling Bob tenderly, “You know it doesn't work that way. To do it by force is black magic. To do it willingly is just weird. To do it by accident, like this, is even weirder. What can I do to make it up to you, Murphy?”
“L-let...me c-come back? D-do this again sometime?” The experience is nearly breaking her heart, she can't stand it, but it's the closest thing she'll ever have. “All three of us could win, Harry.”
“No, Murphy, that's not right at all. You're not thinking, you're up to your eyeballs with emotion, over half of which probably isn't yours. You'll feel better once it's over.”
The timer dings and Bob lights up. Better take the back seat for this trip, sister. They dish up, open a few bottles of wine, and for the second time that day Bob is in sheer bliss. “Oh, god, Harry!” He laughs rapturously in a wonderful food-gasm, “Next time I make fun of your cooking skills, remind me of tonight.”
“I'll do that. Thanks.” They clink glasses and finish the second bottle off.
The meal draws to a close and Harry stands, helping his friends up as he sees their time is about up. “Murphy, thank you for giving us this lovely evening. I'm in your debt.”
“I'll start thinking of how you'll pay me back.” Then she tries her best to tune out as Harry and Bob share their last moments like this. Last kisses, cuddles, petting, repeated words of love... and then she feels he's gone. Murphy finds Harry still holding her, whispering Bob's abysmal pet name into her hair. She indulges in one stab of regret over this. Although he'd touched her body as a lover would it was all for Bob, as it always would be.
He looks over his shoulder and sees his ghostly lover, then grabs Murphy's jacket and helps her into it. “I'm going to take you home, okay? You're drunk. Bob got you drunk.”
“Thanks, Bob!” she mumbles groggily as she's lead out the door. He walks her back to her apartment, which thankfully isn't far, and puts her to bed.
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When he gets back home, he finds Bob waiting for him in the dim candlelit room. They smile at each other, actually laugh; while it had a few snags, the evening was a success.
“Was it enough?”
Bob brushes the question aside, “Don't be silly, there's no such thing as enough. But...it will do. I'll remember it forever. It was the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me. Thank you. Thank you, so much. Poor Lieutenant Murphy,” he adds as an afterthought, shaking his head sympathetically. “We really do owe her, I mean owe her. Big time.”
“Yeah, Bob, I know. We'll figure something out. It's sure good to see you again, though. I missed seeing you, hearing your voice.” He finds himself drawing close to him, but checks himself in time.
This gets him his favorite smile from his mentor, the kind that reaches his eyes and shows all of his teeth. The smile he'd loved for all these years, that made him want to freeze time and live in that moment forever. Their life wouldn't be perfect, there would be the same heartbreaking frustration as they would inevitably reach for each other, craving closeness when there's none to be had, but they'd manage. They'd find a way.
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The next week drags out long and dull. Having promised Murphy to stay out of police business for a few days while she recovers, he'd been
left with relying on walk-ins for business. Then, one day, she lets herself in, her arrival is heralded by the jingling brass bell over the door.
Harry scurries out to see who it is and relaxes. He calls over his shoulder, “Hey, Bob, come on out. It's all right.”
In what he hoped would be his most alarming manner, Bob walks through the wall between the lab and the main room, sufficiently startling the female cop. He laughs pleasantly at her gasp of fright, which quickly turn to nervous giggles. “Wow, you really are a...I mean, of course you are...I mean...wow.” She stares at him, taken in by his undeniable beauty. “This is...you? Bob?” Seeing him now, she can't deny that Dresden has excellent taste. If this was the guy she'd lost him to, she'll allow it.
“Pleasure to see you again, Lieutenant Murphy,” he greets her with a jaunty bow. “Take care you watch where you step this time.”
She stops herself from staring at the ghost who'd borrowed her body, and turns to Dresden. “All right, your probation is over. You can get assignments from us again. It was a nice vacation for everyone, trust me.”
“You feeling all right?”
Murphy nods, fidgeting, “Yeah, yeah, fine.”
Bob pipes up, “I see I failed to fatten you up. Next time we might go even longer!” he suggests with an eager look on his face.
“Goodbye, Bob!” Harry commands pointedly. Bob grimaces and mists away back into his skull. Some things hadn't changed.
“Look, I'm really okay. Not sure I'd want to repeat the experience, but I know it meant a lot to you both. And if it can't be me, I'm glad it's Bob. He's a nice guy. When I was freaking out at first, he...he sang to me in my head. To calm me down. That was really sweet.”
“Yeah, he is. I'm glad you got to meet him. It won't be easy going back to how things were before, but we'll manage.”
“Good luck.”