The Dresden Files / Bob / #08. Holiday
Title: Simple Gifts
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: The Dresden Files (TV-verse)
Characters: Bob, Harry
Prompt: 08. Holiday
Word Count: 1,607
Rating: G
Summary: A bittersweet holiday takes on new meaning.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me; just passing through.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
The poster hung in a prominent place on the worn brick wall, an artistic, bright splash of color in otherwise subdued surroundings. A portrait light illuminated the central figure, the stylized image of a man in a white tuxedo, pointing a thin black wand at a top hat waiting to disgorge something wondrous to delight an invisible audience.
THE ASTOUNDING DRESDEN, the poster proclaimed. MASTER OF MAGIC.
"He hated that trick," said Harry with a nostalgic smile. "The old rabbit out of the hat schtick."
"Why so?" asked Bob with polite interest.
Harry snorted. "Because the rabbits and the doves kept shitting in the hat."
"A disconcerting hazard."
"You could say that, yeah." Harry's gaze moved from the artist's interpretation of his father to the small framed photograph he held within his hand. Malcolm Dresden smiled up at him from the past, his hand resting proudly, perhaps a bit protectively, upon young Harry's shoulder.
Bob stood a respectful distance away, just a few steps behind and to the left of Harry and the modest shrine he had erected to his deceased father. The ghost's customarily inscrutable expression was shadowed by concern. It was not uncommon for Harry to pause by the poster upon occasion, as if to pay his respects to the senior Dresden's memory, but today had been markedly different. The young wizard had been standing here, deep in thought, for the better part of an hour.
"Do you know what today is, Bob?"
"It is the sixth of the month. A Sunday, I believe."
"It's Father's Day." Harry's fingers tightened on the picture frame as moisture misted his dark eyes. "I was just thinking about the last … about Father's Day. I made him a card. Our last Father's Day together and all I could think to do was scribble some words down on a stupid piece of folded paper."
Bob's expression gentled into compassion and sympathy. "You can't blame yourself, Harry. You didn't know what was to happen."
"But I'm a wizard, right? The real thing? Magic and power and all that shit?" Harry's hand trembled slightly with a turmoil of emotion. "I should have been able to see it coming. I should have known!"
"You were a boy, Harry. A child. An innocent. You did not yet know how cruel the world could be."
"Yeah. I was pretty dense, wasn't I? You'd've thought that having my mother murdered would kind of clue me in on just how cruel the world could be," he said derisively. "But my Dad knew all about that. He tried to warn me that others might want to use me for my power. He might even have suspected Uncle Justin was planning something. But I didn't listen. I was pretty sure it was going to be me and him, forever." Harry bowed his head in surrender. "I didn't I listen."
Bob took a step toward Harry and lifted a hand toward the young man's shoulder, only to let it fall back to his side, ineffective. How he wished he could comfort and reassure with a touch but even that simple act of humanity was denied him.
"I never got to say goodbye," said Harry, blinking back hot tears. "Or to tell him how much I loved him."
"In that I believe you are wrong."
"Think so?" Harry's expression darkened as he turned to the ghost. "I dunno, Bob. Uncle Justin was pretty thorough," he said with bitter sarcasm. "My father was dead before he hit the floor. He literally dropped dead right at my feet. I'd kind of remember if I'd had a chance to say "Hey, Dad, I love you" on his way down, don'tcha think?"
"I am sorry, Harry. It was not my intent to rub salt into old wounds." But neither would he stand here and allow Harry to berate himself. "I merely meant to say that your father knew that you loved him. I feel certain that he knew it every day of his life."
"How the hell could you know that?" demanded Harry, his guilt looking for a form of release - any release. "Because I don’t remember anything of the sort. Were you there, Bob?" His fingers tightened on the frame until the knuckles shone white. "Were you spying for my Uncle?"
Bob winced at the words they were a physical blow. And oh!, how that accusation drove as deep as a blade, piercing him to his heart.
"I was not. I did not. Your uncle was not one to share his plans with me. I was not a confidant or a partner. I was - am - a servant and a tool. Nothing more," he replied stiffly as he struggled to keep the hurt from his tone. "What I was trying to point out was that you were your father's constant companion. No matter how well or how badly he did in his stage performances, you were by your own admission his biggest fan. You also insisted on remaining on the road with him when you could easily have enjoyed the creature comforts offered by your mother's brother."
"That doesn't mean he knew-"
"-that you loved him? Very well. Let me it differently. Did your father love you?"
Harry was taken aback. "What the hell kind of question is that? Of course he did!"
"How do you know?"
"What?"
"How do you know that your father loved you? Did he tell you in words, every day? When he tucked you in at night, perhaps? Or in the morning when your arose?"
"Well, no, it wasn't like that."
"But you knew."
"Yeah, I knew."
"Without a doubt."
"Yeah."
"How, then? If he did not speak the words aloud to you every single day?"
"He didn't have to say it out loud every single day," said Harry defensively. "He showed me." His gaze drifted once more to the smiling images in the photograph and his heart twisted. "The way he'd laugh at all of my jokes, even when they weren't funny. Or how he'd be there in the middle of the night, whenever I thought the monsters were going to get me. Back when the monsters stuck to hiding in closets and under the bed." And not behind the smiling face of his Uncle. "My dad never raised his voice. He wasn't the kind of guy to yell. Soft-spoken, I think you'd call him. But he'd sit down and talk to me like I was an equal and not just a stupid little kid. Just talk; you know, like buddies. Sometimes we never said a word. Because we didn't have to."
"Exactly so," said Bob. "All acts of love by a father for his son. You may not have recognized it as such because it was always a constant in your life." Until it was ripped away from you.
"I suppose…"
"And what of the card you made for your father, for Father's Day? You say you 'scribbled' a few words for his benefit. If I might be so bold as to inquire, what were they?"
The tears fell freely now, rolling down Harry's cheeks in glistening rivers. "It said something corny, about him being the real magic in my life."
"And?" Bob gently prompted.
"That I loved him."
"There. You see? He knew, Harry. Every single day of his life that had you in it, your father knew that he was loved."
"I … I guess you're right."
Bob inclined his head in silent acceptance of the concession. With that, he turned and silently walked away, leaving Harry to his memories. He would not admit, even to himself, that the emotional wound that had been dealt him still stung. His understanding of the young wizard's need to lash out did not make the accusation hurt any less.
"Bob?"
The ghost paused but did not turn.
"Something else just occurred to me."
"Yes?"
Harry's voice was husky. "When I was a kid … you always laughed at my jokes. Even the bad ones."
"Did I? Fortunately, a malady I appear to have overcome."
"Now that I think of it, it kinda seems like you were always there when I needed someone to talk to."
"Yes, well … it was my duty to do so. I was your mentor, at your Uncle's command."
"Uh-huh. And all those nights when I couldn't sleep? When I was sure the monsters were going to eat my face off?"
"Really, Harry. As if I allow myself to lose a charge to something as ignominious as a monster in a closet! That would have been most embarrassing."
"Right. Sure. Of course." There was amusement in Harry's tone and something else... "Bob? Look at me, will ya?"
The ghost reluctantly turned and lifted his blue eyes to meet Harry's darker gaze. What he saw reflected therein filled him with wonder and surprise.
"I can still be pretty clueless," Harry apologized. "But I'm not totally dense." Never the best at expressing his feelings, he shifted a bit uncomfortably. "I should have said this a long time ago. But better late than never, right? So, um … thanks. For being there. For watching out for me all those years and standing by me, no matter what."
A warm but somewhat bewildered smile brightened Bob's lean, aristocratic features. "You do not need to thank me, Harry. It was my pleasure to do so."
"Yeah, well, while I'm at it -- there's something else I should have said." Harry took a deep breath, the beloved old ghost's image suddenly little more than a blur. "Happy Father's Day, Bob. Thanks for picking up where Dad left off."
Author: Cyloran
Fandom: The Dresden Files (TV-verse)
Characters: Bob, Harry
Prompt: 08. Holiday
Word Count: 1,607
Rating: G
Summary: A bittersweet holiday takes on new meaning.
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me; just passing through.
Table: Here There be Ghosts
The poster hung in a prominent place on the worn brick wall, an artistic, bright splash of color in otherwise subdued surroundings. A portrait light illuminated the central figure, the stylized image of a man in a white tuxedo, pointing a thin black wand at a top hat waiting to disgorge something wondrous to delight an invisible audience.
THE ASTOUNDING DRESDEN, the poster proclaimed. MASTER OF MAGIC.
"He hated that trick," said Harry with a nostalgic smile. "The old rabbit out of the hat schtick."
"Why so?" asked Bob with polite interest.
Harry snorted. "Because the rabbits and the doves kept shitting in the hat."
"A disconcerting hazard."
"You could say that, yeah." Harry's gaze moved from the artist's interpretation of his father to the small framed photograph he held within his hand. Malcolm Dresden smiled up at him from the past, his hand resting proudly, perhaps a bit protectively, upon young Harry's shoulder.
Bob stood a respectful distance away, just a few steps behind and to the left of Harry and the modest shrine he had erected to his deceased father. The ghost's customarily inscrutable expression was shadowed by concern. It was not uncommon for Harry to pause by the poster upon occasion, as if to pay his respects to the senior Dresden's memory, but today had been markedly different. The young wizard had been standing here, deep in thought, for the better part of an hour.
"Do you know what today is, Bob?"
"It is the sixth of the month. A Sunday, I believe."
"It's Father's Day." Harry's fingers tightened on the picture frame as moisture misted his dark eyes. "I was just thinking about the last … about Father's Day. I made him a card. Our last Father's Day together and all I could think to do was scribble some words down on a stupid piece of folded paper."
Bob's expression gentled into compassion and sympathy. "You can't blame yourself, Harry. You didn't know what was to happen."
"But I'm a wizard, right? The real thing? Magic and power and all that shit?" Harry's hand trembled slightly with a turmoil of emotion. "I should have been able to see it coming. I should have known!"
"You were a boy, Harry. A child. An innocent. You did not yet know how cruel the world could be."
"Yeah. I was pretty dense, wasn't I? You'd've thought that having my mother murdered would kind of clue me in on just how cruel the world could be," he said derisively. "But my Dad knew all about that. He tried to warn me that others might want to use me for my power. He might even have suspected Uncle Justin was planning something. But I didn't listen. I was pretty sure it was going to be me and him, forever." Harry bowed his head in surrender. "I didn't I listen."
Bob took a step toward Harry and lifted a hand toward the young man's shoulder, only to let it fall back to his side, ineffective. How he wished he could comfort and reassure with a touch but even that simple act of humanity was denied him.
"I never got to say goodbye," said Harry, blinking back hot tears. "Or to tell him how much I loved him."
"In that I believe you are wrong."
"Think so?" Harry's expression darkened as he turned to the ghost. "I dunno, Bob. Uncle Justin was pretty thorough," he said with bitter sarcasm. "My father was dead before he hit the floor. He literally dropped dead right at my feet. I'd kind of remember if I'd had a chance to say "Hey, Dad, I love you" on his way down, don'tcha think?"
"I am sorry, Harry. It was not my intent to rub salt into old wounds." But neither would he stand here and allow Harry to berate himself. "I merely meant to say that your father knew that you loved him. I feel certain that he knew it every day of his life."
"How the hell could you know that?" demanded Harry, his guilt looking for a form of release - any release. "Because I don’t remember anything of the sort. Were you there, Bob?" His fingers tightened on the frame until the knuckles shone white. "Were you spying for my Uncle?"
Bob winced at the words they were a physical blow. And oh!, how that accusation drove as deep as a blade, piercing him to his heart.
"I was not. I did not. Your uncle was not one to share his plans with me. I was not a confidant or a partner. I was - am - a servant and a tool. Nothing more," he replied stiffly as he struggled to keep the hurt from his tone. "What I was trying to point out was that you were your father's constant companion. No matter how well or how badly he did in his stage performances, you were by your own admission his biggest fan. You also insisted on remaining on the road with him when you could easily have enjoyed the creature comforts offered by your mother's brother."
"That doesn't mean he knew-"
"-that you loved him? Very well. Let me it differently. Did your father love you?"
Harry was taken aback. "What the hell kind of question is that? Of course he did!"
"How do you know?"
"What?"
"How do you know that your father loved you? Did he tell you in words, every day? When he tucked you in at night, perhaps? Or in the morning when your arose?"
"Well, no, it wasn't like that."
"But you knew."
"Yeah, I knew."
"Without a doubt."
"Yeah."
"How, then? If he did not speak the words aloud to you every single day?"
"He didn't have to say it out loud every single day," said Harry defensively. "He showed me." His gaze drifted once more to the smiling images in the photograph and his heart twisted. "The way he'd laugh at all of my jokes, even when they weren't funny. Or how he'd be there in the middle of the night, whenever I thought the monsters were going to get me. Back when the monsters stuck to hiding in closets and under the bed." And not behind the smiling face of his Uncle. "My dad never raised his voice. He wasn't the kind of guy to yell. Soft-spoken, I think you'd call him. But he'd sit down and talk to me like I was an equal and not just a stupid little kid. Just talk; you know, like buddies. Sometimes we never said a word. Because we didn't have to."
"Exactly so," said Bob. "All acts of love by a father for his son. You may not have recognized it as such because it was always a constant in your life." Until it was ripped away from you.
"I suppose…"
"And what of the card you made for your father, for Father's Day? You say you 'scribbled' a few words for his benefit. If I might be so bold as to inquire, what were they?"
The tears fell freely now, rolling down Harry's cheeks in glistening rivers. "It said something corny, about him being the real magic in my life."
"And?" Bob gently prompted.
"That I loved him."
"There. You see? He knew, Harry. Every single day of his life that had you in it, your father knew that he was loved."
"I … I guess you're right."
Bob inclined his head in silent acceptance of the concession. With that, he turned and silently walked away, leaving Harry to his memories. He would not admit, even to himself, that the emotional wound that had been dealt him still stung. His understanding of the young wizard's need to lash out did not make the accusation hurt any less.
"Bob?"
The ghost paused but did not turn.
"Something else just occurred to me."
"Yes?"
Harry's voice was husky. "When I was a kid … you always laughed at my jokes. Even the bad ones."
"Did I? Fortunately, a malady I appear to have overcome."
"Now that I think of it, it kinda seems like you were always there when I needed someone to talk to."
"Yes, well … it was my duty to do so. I was your mentor, at your Uncle's command."
"Uh-huh. And all those nights when I couldn't sleep? When I was sure the monsters were going to eat my face off?"
"Really, Harry. As if I allow myself to lose a charge to something as ignominious as a monster in a closet! That would have been most embarrassing."
"Right. Sure. Of course." There was amusement in Harry's tone and something else... "Bob? Look at me, will ya?"
The ghost reluctantly turned and lifted his blue eyes to meet Harry's darker gaze. What he saw reflected therein filled him with wonder and surprise.
"I can still be pretty clueless," Harry apologized. "But I'm not totally dense." Never the best at expressing his feelings, he shifted a bit uncomfortably. "I should have said this a long time ago. But better late than never, right? So, um … thanks. For being there. For watching out for me all those years and standing by me, no matter what."
A warm but somewhat bewildered smile brightened Bob's lean, aristocratic features. "You do not need to thank me, Harry. It was my pleasure to do so."
"Yeah, well, while I'm at it -- there's something else I should have said." Harry took a deep breath, the beloved old ghost's image suddenly little more than a blur. "Happy Father's Day, Bob. Thanks for picking up where Dad left off."