FIC: Vignette - The First Heart-to-Heart [The Dresden Files]
TITLE: Vignette - The First Heart-to-Heart
DISCLAIMER: The Dresden Files doesn't belong to me - the TV series belongs to Lionsgate, and the characters themselves were created by Jim Butcher. Written for entertainment purposes, no money made, please don't sue, yadda.
FANDOM: The Dresden Files
PAIRING: Harry/Bob UST
WORD COUNT: 2,292
RATING: G?
WARNINGS: Injured!Harry?
SUMMARY: There are times when friends resemble other people, and history repeats, no matter how much we might want it not to.
PRAISE BE: A warm thank you goes out to shiplizard and beachkid for their beta-reading, encouragement, and questions. Thanks also to gehayi, who pointed out something I'd overlooked. I wouldn't have been able to make it without their patience and awesomeness. Thank you, guys!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is part of the Forged series, which starts with Desperate Measures. You might want to read that first to understand what's going on.
***
My leg was throbbing when I crested the hill that overlooked Ebenezar's property, and my head was aching in a steady counterpoint. I wiped at my eye again where sweat from the heat was starting to mix with the cut on my head, and sighed, adjusting my duffle on my shoulder and nearly crying out at the pain. Finally sacrificing pride for comfort, I sat on my ass and scooted down the steep hill, my ripped jeans catching on the occasional rock and making me wince. When I got to the bottom of the hill, I had to force myself to my feet and wobble to the front porch. The stairs were an adventure in balance, but I managed to catch myself before I fell flat on my ass.
The door opened just as I put my duffel down, and Ebenezar stared at me for a long moment.
"Hi, sir," I rasped. My throat was still raw from all of the yelling I'd done a few hours ago.
"Hoss," he said with deceptive evenness. He glanced over my shoulder, probably to make sure there wasn't a lynch mob behind me, and opened the door wider. "Come on in."
I smiled as best I could through the split lip, and tottered inside, dragging the duffle behind me, and eyed the couch hungrily. I hadn't slept in a comfortable bed in so long that Ebenezar's couch, with all of its worn spots and hidden springs, started to look like Heaven.
Ebenezar must have caught the look, because he took the duffle bag from my weak fingers and pointed at the kitchen. "Kitchen, Hoss. You're bleeding on my floor."
"Sorry," I mumbled. Staggering into the kitchen with Ebenezar behind me, I managed to sit down in one of the two chairs at the small table.
Ebenezar disappeared into the bathroom for a minute where he usually kept his Tupperware bin of medical supplies, topped with a small box of Band-Aids that I'd bought for him the last time I was here. He set them down next to me, and then started getting some pots out of the cupboards to start dinner.
I cleaned myself up as best I could, dabbing hydrogen peroxide on the cuts I could reach, hissing and wincing as I did. I tried to keep quiet -- it's a guy thing -- but Ebenezar would occasionally glance over at me. When I finished ten minutes later, I stood gingerly and gathered up the medical supplies.
"Leave 'em," Ebenezar said. "I'll get them later."
"Okay." I said, glancing over at his wood-burning stove curiously. From the smell, dinner was almost ready. "Smells good."
"Go lay down, Hoss," he grunted, not looking at me.
In the light of the stove, his wispy white hair looked reddish gold, his stocky body reminding me of pictures I'd seen of Hephaestus in some of the mythology books that I'd read when I was younger. Though, instead of forging lightning bolts for Zeus, he was frying steaks, the spices lingering in the air. If I were feeling particularly contemplative, I would have noted it. Being me, however, I was too achy and in pain to care.
I nodded, and headed back to the living room.
"Your room hasn't moved, Hoss," Ebenezar called from behind me.
The guest room, which had unofficially become my room the second time that I stayed, was small, cozy, and on the second floor. I aimed a black look at the kitchen, but headed up the stairs, my knuckles white as I gripped the banister. When I got to my room, I faceplanted onto the bed, and went to sleep.
It was an indication of how little sleep I'd had recently when I woke up to bright sunshine. The alarm clock next to my bed said that it was after nine, and I could hear birds chirping away outside. I gingerly got out of bed and headed downstairs. After arming myself with two aspirin and a mug of coffee to start my day, I hobbled off in search of Ebenezar.
I found him sitting on the front porch, a mug of coffee in one hand as he looked out over the lawn. Yawning, I eased myself down into the chair next to him, wincing a little as I got comfortable.
"Morning," I grunted.
Ebenezar nodded, taking a sip from his mug.
"How's things been going?" I asked, trying to make pleasant conversation that didn't center around my very obvious injuries.
"Good," he grunted. He eyed me for a moment and raised an eyebrow at me. "What happened?"
"Dance lessons," I replied, trying to find a position in the chair that didn't aggravate my aching hip. "Those little old ladies are murder on beginners."
He snorted, thoroughly unimpressed by the wisecrack. "Looks like someone's been dancing on your face, Hoss." He took another sip of coffee.
I deliberately looked away from him out onto the lawn. "Looks like the lawn's going to need mowing." The master of changing the subject, that's me.
Ebenezar stared at me for a long while, and then turned back to the lawn as well. "You know where the push-mower is."
That I did. Whenever I dropped by Ebenezar's farm for however long, I always ended up doing odd jobs around the farm to make up for the fact that I was, and I quote, eating him out of house and home and keeping him up all night with my thunderous snoring.
The more I dropped by the farm, the more I got the impression that Ebenezar let some stuff slide, so that whenever I happened to drop by, he'd have something for me to do while I was staying there. He might not be one to quote at me about idle hands, but Ebenezar had been raised to work with his hands as well as his magic. To him, it was a matter of balance, and it was a good thing to keep in mind, especially since I was still trying to figure out just what I wanted to do with my life.
When I started to get up, Ebenezar eyed me, and then said, "The work'll still be there tomorrow, Hoss."
I paused and nodded. "I know."
He always let me have a day to recuperate before sending me off to the salt mines. Most of the time, I took him up on it because it was a day to relax and not have to worry about where my next meal came from, or where I was going to sleep. The times I showed bone-tired and hurting in places I wasn't sure I could describe, I'd needed it.
This time, though, I just didn't know if I should have that day to sit around the house and recover from my injuries, right under Ebenezar's watchful eye. He never asked any questions when I showed up at his door, and for that, I was infinitely grateful. But even Ebenezar McCoy would have trouble leaving me alone about showing up as bloody and beat-up as I was. My dodging his questions probably didn't help.
"Sit down, Hoss," Ebenezar growled at me, and that's when I realized that I'd braced one hand on the arm of the chair and was getting up.
I sighed and sat down again. "The work will do me good."
Ebenezar glanced over at me and snorted. "Damn stubborn fool."
I didn't correct him, and I didn't come up with a witty reply. It was probably because of the pain.
I tried to ignore the distance growing between us. I tried to ignore the fact that it felt like I was on a walk with my uncle again, a pregnant silence replacing Justin's lectures about what to do about my life, and things to watch out for. I tried to ignore the fact that I was sitting in a wooden chair, my body aching, my stomach demanding food, and feeling more alone than I did when I was on the road.
I could tell Ebenezar about Bob, about what I'd realized in the past two years since I returned home. I could tell him why I paid him a visit after only a month. I could tell him how I felt confused, angry at myself, and lonely as hell. I could finally unload on someone who wasn't my uncle, who wasn't the object of my affections, who hadn't pushed for information when I showed up on his doorstep.
I looked at Ebenezar out of the corner of my eye. He was a short, stocky man with wispy white hair, his skin reddish-pink from working outside. His T-shirt and denim overalls were a little dirty, but that wasn't unusual. His blue eyes looked out over the yard, not missing a thing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his cat loping across the yard, intent on something I couldn't see.
I stared at the man who'd been my friend for three years, and realized I wouldn't tell him a thing. I couldn't.
Maybe it was habit that made me lock down tight on my secrets, on my feelings. After so long of not having anyone I could talk to, the one time I had someone there, my mouth refused to open. My mind couldn't fathom the possibility that I could explain everything to a man who'd never asked questions, who'd unofficially given me a room that I could retreat to when the world got to be too much for me to handle. Never mind that the idea of telling Ebenezar McCoy that I was bisexual scared me more than facing down that black dog in the Scottish countryside last spring, and that was saying something.
If I couldn't tell a friend that I'd gotten into a fight because some jerks were harassing a waitress, I definitely couldn't tell him about my nonexistent love life.
We stayed out on the porch, both of us nursing our cups of coffee, and then... there was nothing. The silence surprised me, but after I thought about it, I realized I shouldn't have been. No matter how tired I was, how much I'd wanted to retreat from something I'd just dealt with, he never pushed. He never asked about it, never prodded me for details. Justin would have wanted to know what happened, why I'd needed bandages, what in the world happened to me, but not Ebenezar. He told me to sit down and eat, or go get some sleep, but the few times that I'd asked about things that I'd come across that were very, very grey, if not outright black, he'd answer what he could, and wait for me to talk about it, explain what had happened and why I wanted to know. Where Justin demanded to know everything about the situation, when he even talked to me about something, Ebenezar waited and watched.
You'd think that not having any pressure would make it easier for me to open up, but I was just as unwilling to tell him as before. Maybe I needed some kind of trigger, a question that would prod answers out of me, and Ebenezar wasn't asking it. Was he disappointed that I wasn't telling him what happened? That I might never be able to tell him about what was happening to me? I could feel the words in my chest, rising to my throat, but unlike whenever I felt the need to blurt out words that I had to clamp down on with both hands whenever I was talking to Bob, I couldn't force these words out to a man who'd become a good friend.
"Hoss."
I blinked, and looked at Ebenezar. "Sir?"
"Things come in their own time." He looked at me, meeting my eyes. We'd soulgazed fairly early on during my first visit, more by accident than design on my part, though I have a feeling that Ebenezar had wanted to get a full measure of the kind of man Margaret Gwendolyn Dresden's son had turned out to be.
"And if it missed the last train?" I asked.
Ebenezar chuckled, and sipped more coffee. "It'll get here sooner or later." He glanced at me. "I mean, look at you."
I frowned, and considered that. He was telling me more than he was, well, saying. It was okay not to tell him. It wasn't the end of the world. One day, some day, I'd get around to telling him, but not now, not today. That didn't make it right not to tell him. If I couldn't tell him about my complicated love life, I could at least explain about the cuts and bruises.
I looked back out over the lawn. "I was getting some breakfast at a diner in St. Louis when these drunks came in and started harassing the waitress." I sipped some coffee. "I told them to back off, and they decided they were going to teach me a lesson."
"Learn something from it?" he grunted.
"Yeah, don't underestimate drunks," I said, smiling sheepishly. "Especially four of them."
"Four of them? Hoss, even I know not to take on that many." Ebenezar shot me an annoyed look that looked somehow disappointed. Don't ask me how he did it, because even I'm not sure.
"What can I say," I said with a shrug. "I crave challenge."
"Going up against those kinds of odds, you're craving a cracked skull." He sipped more coffee.
I was holding back, and we both knew it, but when Ebenezar glanced at me again, I could see that it was okay.
"C'mon, Hoss," he said. "I think I still have some leftovers from breakfast you can have."
I nodded. "Thanks, sir."
And then we went inside.
END
To start from the beginning, this way to Desperate Measures.
This way to the prequel, Vignette - The First Return.
This way to the sequel, Vignette - The First Epiphany.
DISCLAIMER: The Dresden Files doesn't belong to me - the TV series belongs to Lionsgate, and the characters themselves were created by Jim Butcher. Written for entertainment purposes, no money made, please don't sue, yadda.
FANDOM: The Dresden Files
PAIRING: Harry/Bob UST
WORD COUNT: 2,292
RATING: G?
WARNINGS: Injured!Harry?
SUMMARY: There are times when friends resemble other people, and history repeats, no matter how much we might want it not to.
PRAISE BE: A warm thank you goes out to shiplizard and beachkid for their beta-reading, encouragement, and questions. Thanks also to gehayi, who pointed out something I'd overlooked. I wouldn't have been able to make it without their patience and awesomeness. Thank you, guys!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is part of the Forged series, which starts with Desperate Measures. You might want to read that first to understand what's going on.
***
My leg was throbbing when I crested the hill that overlooked Ebenezar's property, and my head was aching in a steady counterpoint. I wiped at my eye again where sweat from the heat was starting to mix with the cut on my head, and sighed, adjusting my duffle on my shoulder and nearly crying out at the pain. Finally sacrificing pride for comfort, I sat on my ass and scooted down the steep hill, my ripped jeans catching on the occasional rock and making me wince. When I got to the bottom of the hill, I had to force myself to my feet and wobble to the front porch. The stairs were an adventure in balance, but I managed to catch myself before I fell flat on my ass.
The door opened just as I put my duffel down, and Ebenezar stared at me for a long moment.
"Hi, sir," I rasped. My throat was still raw from all of the yelling I'd done a few hours ago.
"Hoss," he said with deceptive evenness. He glanced over my shoulder, probably to make sure there wasn't a lynch mob behind me, and opened the door wider. "Come on in."
I smiled as best I could through the split lip, and tottered inside, dragging the duffle behind me, and eyed the couch hungrily. I hadn't slept in a comfortable bed in so long that Ebenezar's couch, with all of its worn spots and hidden springs, started to look like Heaven.
Ebenezar must have caught the look, because he took the duffle bag from my weak fingers and pointed at the kitchen. "Kitchen, Hoss. You're bleeding on my floor."
"Sorry," I mumbled. Staggering into the kitchen with Ebenezar behind me, I managed to sit down in one of the two chairs at the small table.
Ebenezar disappeared into the bathroom for a minute where he usually kept his Tupperware bin of medical supplies, topped with a small box of Band-Aids that I'd bought for him the last time I was here. He set them down next to me, and then started getting some pots out of the cupboards to start dinner.
I cleaned myself up as best I could, dabbing hydrogen peroxide on the cuts I could reach, hissing and wincing as I did. I tried to keep quiet -- it's a guy thing -- but Ebenezar would occasionally glance over at me. When I finished ten minutes later, I stood gingerly and gathered up the medical supplies.
"Leave 'em," Ebenezar said. "I'll get them later."
"Okay." I said, glancing over at his wood-burning stove curiously. From the smell, dinner was almost ready. "Smells good."
"Go lay down, Hoss," he grunted, not looking at me.
In the light of the stove, his wispy white hair looked reddish gold, his stocky body reminding me of pictures I'd seen of Hephaestus in some of the mythology books that I'd read when I was younger. Though, instead of forging lightning bolts for Zeus, he was frying steaks, the spices lingering in the air. If I were feeling particularly contemplative, I would have noted it. Being me, however, I was too achy and in pain to care.
I nodded, and headed back to the living room.
"Your room hasn't moved, Hoss," Ebenezar called from behind me.
The guest room, which had unofficially become my room the second time that I stayed, was small, cozy, and on the second floor. I aimed a black look at the kitchen, but headed up the stairs, my knuckles white as I gripped the banister. When I got to my room, I faceplanted onto the bed, and went to sleep.
It was an indication of how little sleep I'd had recently when I woke up to bright sunshine. The alarm clock next to my bed said that it was after nine, and I could hear birds chirping away outside. I gingerly got out of bed and headed downstairs. After arming myself with two aspirin and a mug of coffee to start my day, I hobbled off in search of Ebenezar.
I found him sitting on the front porch, a mug of coffee in one hand as he looked out over the lawn. Yawning, I eased myself down into the chair next to him, wincing a little as I got comfortable.
"Morning," I grunted.
Ebenezar nodded, taking a sip from his mug.
"How's things been going?" I asked, trying to make pleasant conversation that didn't center around my very obvious injuries.
"Good," he grunted. He eyed me for a moment and raised an eyebrow at me. "What happened?"
"Dance lessons," I replied, trying to find a position in the chair that didn't aggravate my aching hip. "Those little old ladies are murder on beginners."
He snorted, thoroughly unimpressed by the wisecrack. "Looks like someone's been dancing on your face, Hoss." He took another sip of coffee.
I deliberately looked away from him out onto the lawn. "Looks like the lawn's going to need mowing." The master of changing the subject, that's me.
Ebenezar stared at me for a long while, and then turned back to the lawn as well. "You know where the push-mower is."
That I did. Whenever I dropped by Ebenezar's farm for however long, I always ended up doing odd jobs around the farm to make up for the fact that I was, and I quote, eating him out of house and home and keeping him up all night with my thunderous snoring.
The more I dropped by the farm, the more I got the impression that Ebenezar let some stuff slide, so that whenever I happened to drop by, he'd have something for me to do while I was staying there. He might not be one to quote at me about idle hands, but Ebenezar had been raised to work with his hands as well as his magic. To him, it was a matter of balance, and it was a good thing to keep in mind, especially since I was still trying to figure out just what I wanted to do with my life.
When I started to get up, Ebenezar eyed me, and then said, "The work'll still be there tomorrow, Hoss."
I paused and nodded. "I know."
He always let me have a day to recuperate before sending me off to the salt mines. Most of the time, I took him up on it because it was a day to relax and not have to worry about where my next meal came from, or where I was going to sleep. The times I showed bone-tired and hurting in places I wasn't sure I could describe, I'd needed it.
This time, though, I just didn't know if I should have that day to sit around the house and recover from my injuries, right under Ebenezar's watchful eye. He never asked any questions when I showed up at his door, and for that, I was infinitely grateful. But even Ebenezar McCoy would have trouble leaving me alone about showing up as bloody and beat-up as I was. My dodging his questions probably didn't help.
"Sit down, Hoss," Ebenezar growled at me, and that's when I realized that I'd braced one hand on the arm of the chair and was getting up.
I sighed and sat down again. "The work will do me good."
Ebenezar glanced over at me and snorted. "Damn stubborn fool."
I didn't correct him, and I didn't come up with a witty reply. It was probably because of the pain.
I tried to ignore the distance growing between us. I tried to ignore the fact that it felt like I was on a walk with my uncle again, a pregnant silence replacing Justin's lectures about what to do about my life, and things to watch out for. I tried to ignore the fact that I was sitting in a wooden chair, my body aching, my stomach demanding food, and feeling more alone than I did when I was on the road.
I could tell Ebenezar about Bob, about what I'd realized in the past two years since I returned home. I could tell him why I paid him a visit after only a month. I could tell him how I felt confused, angry at myself, and lonely as hell. I could finally unload on someone who wasn't my uncle, who wasn't the object of my affections, who hadn't pushed for information when I showed up on his doorstep.
I looked at Ebenezar out of the corner of my eye. He was a short, stocky man with wispy white hair, his skin reddish-pink from working outside. His T-shirt and denim overalls were a little dirty, but that wasn't unusual. His blue eyes looked out over the yard, not missing a thing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see his cat loping across the yard, intent on something I couldn't see.
I stared at the man who'd been my friend for three years, and realized I wouldn't tell him a thing. I couldn't.
Maybe it was habit that made me lock down tight on my secrets, on my feelings. After so long of not having anyone I could talk to, the one time I had someone there, my mouth refused to open. My mind couldn't fathom the possibility that I could explain everything to a man who'd never asked questions, who'd unofficially given me a room that I could retreat to when the world got to be too much for me to handle. Never mind that the idea of telling Ebenezar McCoy that I was bisexual scared me more than facing down that black dog in the Scottish countryside last spring, and that was saying something.
If I couldn't tell a friend that I'd gotten into a fight because some jerks were harassing a waitress, I definitely couldn't tell him about my nonexistent love life.
We stayed out on the porch, both of us nursing our cups of coffee, and then... there was nothing. The silence surprised me, but after I thought about it, I realized I shouldn't have been. No matter how tired I was, how much I'd wanted to retreat from something I'd just dealt with, he never pushed. He never asked about it, never prodded me for details. Justin would have wanted to know what happened, why I'd needed bandages, what in the world happened to me, but not Ebenezar. He told me to sit down and eat, or go get some sleep, but the few times that I'd asked about things that I'd come across that were very, very grey, if not outright black, he'd answer what he could, and wait for me to talk about it, explain what had happened and why I wanted to know. Where Justin demanded to know everything about the situation, when he even talked to me about something, Ebenezar waited and watched.
You'd think that not having any pressure would make it easier for me to open up, but I was just as unwilling to tell him as before. Maybe I needed some kind of trigger, a question that would prod answers out of me, and Ebenezar wasn't asking it. Was he disappointed that I wasn't telling him what happened? That I might never be able to tell him about what was happening to me? I could feel the words in my chest, rising to my throat, but unlike whenever I felt the need to blurt out words that I had to clamp down on with both hands whenever I was talking to Bob, I couldn't force these words out to a man who'd become a good friend.
"Hoss."
I blinked, and looked at Ebenezar. "Sir?"
"Things come in their own time." He looked at me, meeting my eyes. We'd soulgazed fairly early on during my first visit, more by accident than design on my part, though I have a feeling that Ebenezar had wanted to get a full measure of the kind of man Margaret Gwendolyn Dresden's son had turned out to be.
"And if it missed the last train?" I asked.
Ebenezar chuckled, and sipped more coffee. "It'll get here sooner or later." He glanced at me. "I mean, look at you."
I frowned, and considered that. He was telling me more than he was, well, saying. It was okay not to tell him. It wasn't the end of the world. One day, some day, I'd get around to telling him, but not now, not today. That didn't make it right not to tell him. If I couldn't tell him about my complicated love life, I could at least explain about the cuts and bruises.
I looked back out over the lawn. "I was getting some breakfast at a diner in St. Louis when these drunks came in and started harassing the waitress." I sipped some coffee. "I told them to back off, and they decided they were going to teach me a lesson."
"Learn something from it?" he grunted.
"Yeah, don't underestimate drunks," I said, smiling sheepishly. "Especially four of them."
"Four of them? Hoss, even I know not to take on that many." Ebenezar shot me an annoyed look that looked somehow disappointed. Don't ask me how he did it, because even I'm not sure.
"What can I say," I said with a shrug. "I crave challenge."
"Going up against those kinds of odds, you're craving a cracked skull." He sipped more coffee.
I was holding back, and we both knew it, but when Ebenezar glanced at me again, I could see that it was okay.
"C'mon, Hoss," he said. "I think I still have some leftovers from breakfast you can have."
I nodded. "Thanks, sir."
And then we went inside.
END
To start from the beginning, this way to Desperate Measures.
This way to the prequel, Vignette - The First Return.
This way to the sequel, Vignette - The First Epiphany.