FIC: A HEART OUT OF TIME, CHAPTER ONE
I began this fic back in early July as a simple short ficlet response to a word challenge. It wasn’t long before Bob and Harry, but Bob in particular, were clamoring for a very different story. 80 pages and almost 54,000 words later, they said I could stop. Backstories have been important to me in all my fandoms (they help me understand the characters and get inside their heads), but I suspect that Bob’s backstory has turned out to be more important to me than any other I’ve dreamed up.
The story is complete, never fear. I finished last weekend. I’ll be posting it in...not sure how many parts yet. I’m aiming for chapters that are long enough but not too long, and which end on either a high or a low note. We’ll see how I manage that!
Title: A Heart Out of Time, Part One
Author: Anne Fairchild
Summary: The past can come back to haunt you...literally. Sometimes, you need help finding out who you really are.
Rating: NC-17 for Part One
Warnings: For this part - rape and heavy angst. This is a very angsty fic in general, and will periodically feature descriptions of violent acts and Not Nice stuff. Chapter One, however, is the only one that IMO merits a ‘real’ warning, for the non-con.
Word Count: 4,128
Disclaimer: I don’t own these lovely lads and I’m certainly not making any profit from them, but I love ‘em dearly. For entertainment purposes only.
Beta’d by:
pinkdoom and
murielperun. Hugs, kisses and boxes of chocolates to both of them. I doubt I would have finished the fic, and certainly not as “quickly” (lol, speed being relative here) without
pinkdoom's ever-present encouragement and wise counsel. Not to mention her lively enthusiasm when I was wondering what the heck I was doing!
Author’s Note: Borrowing a leaf (or rather, a sentence) from
pinkdoom, “yes, I’ve committed the “corporeal Bob, no explanation” sin again, but for a reason other than just to write porn.” I too am a ‘relationship person’ - for me it’s all about what makes them tick - both within a relationship and within themselves, and how those things meld.
I did a lot of research for this fic in the areas of history, geography, costuming, and certain current laws and customs. I twisted a few things here and there but not much, because I wanted it to be as accurate as I could make it without boring y’all to death. I have done a mini-website with several pages of photos to go along with the fic, but I won’t be giving out the URLs until I’ve posted far enough along in the story that you won’t be spoiled.
The storm that had been brewing over the city all day broke just as Harry got into the Bug to crawl home. It turned Chicago into a gritty, steaming jungle. It was a real deluge, almost a flash flood - the sort of rain where you can hardly see a car length in front of you, and all you want to do is get inside and be out of it. The power had gone out in some areas, and as he drove across town often the only light in the streets was the frequent flash of lightning, preceded by loud cracks and booms of thunder.
He’d expected to be home hours ago, having a cozy evening in with Bob. Instead, he’d gotten caught up in a homemade Santeria summoning-gone-wrong and here he was, late, hungry, bloody and sore. All he wanted was a hot shower, food and Bob, not necessarily in that order.
As he got out of the car, feeling every abrasion and bruise, he saw that the power was out here too. Great. No hot shower. No hot dinner. Still, he was home, and Bob would be waiting. But he would be soaked by the time he got inside.
He took down the wards and opened the door, slipping inside and shaking himself like a dog. Steam rose off his clothes.
“Bob?” he called out. Odd that he couldn’t see any light in the back of the apartment.
Without warning, he was grabbed from behind, his wrists held firmly behind his back.
“Where have you been?”
The voice was barely recognizable as Bob’s - harsh, and cold. Wow, he must be seriously pissed off. Had he forgotten Harry couldn’t use cell phones?
“Sorry, sorry. Things got complicated. I couldn’t…”
“Shut up,” the voice growled in his ear. “Inconsiderate bastard.”
“Bob, what the fu-”
“Shut UP!” Thunder rumbled loudly above them.
He was pushed against his desk, stumbling in the dark. His hands were now immobilized by magic, as he couldn’t feel Bob’s hands any longer; he heard the sound of a zipper behind him.
“Bob, wait a minute, just slow down.” Harry was beginning to feel a little panicked. Was this Bob, or some sort of evil doppelganger?
“Fuck you.” His own zipper was released, and his jeans and briefs yanked down to his knees.
“I said I was sor-”
“Not good enough.”
Shaking, Harry was on the verge of asking Bob if he was going to rape him when he heard a hurried search of the desk. There was a brief pause, and Harry felt a hard finger push something cold inside him and spread it with clinical precision. Bob was clearly very angry with him, but also apparently wasn’t intending to be deliberately vicious.
He was entered in one quick, deep thrust, with so much force that his chin slammed against the desk. He couldn’t find any balance because his hands were immobilized behind him. The only thing he could do was lay his face on the desk and hope he didn’t come in contact with anything sharp.
It hurt. Whatever Bob had used wasn’t as effective as regular lube, and he wasn’t exactly feeling relaxed right now. He’d never thought he’d consider Bob’s size a disadvantage, but then, he hadn’t envisioned this little scenario.
There was a furious anger behind every thrust, as if Bob felt the need to punish him for something. Hard, quick…and very unsettling. This was a side of Bob he’d seldom seen before, and it had never applied to him. Scary was putting it mildly.
“Thoughtless son of a bitch,” he heard behind him as he bit back a groan of pain.
Bob’s hands were either clamped rigidly on his hips where they would be leaving bruises, or pulling his hair, twisting his head back…wanting him to feel pain. What the hell was going on?
Growls of frustration and anger were being ground out at his back, ultimately eliding into hurt, almost wounded sounds. As the vocalizations muted, the anger behind the thrusts lessened slightly, if not the intensity. Just when Harry thought his aching back might break, Bob withdrew and pulled him up.
“In here,” he commanded, pushing Harry into the living room. Flashes of lightning lit their way. The smell of ozone was sharp in the air.
By the light of a single candle, he could finally see Bob’s face, intense and full of anger and pain. The normally pale eyes were all black pupil. There were large, dark blots of sweat where Bob’s shirt stuck to his body.
Wordlessly, Bob pulled off Harry’s jeans and underwear, tossing them over the couch to the floor. He shoved Harry’s legs back roughly, bringing him to the edge of the cushion.
Shit! Whatever this was, it had to stop, now, before things went so far that neither of them could go back. The spell Bob was using had worked because of the element of surprise. One thing Harry had finally realized over the years was that although Bob had the greater knowledge of matters arcane and probably always would, in terms of sheer magical juice, he was stronger than Bob. He had a natural, raw power that could, and had, shocked Bob many times. Apparently now was one of the times he needed to use it.
“BOB! Enough!” Harry growled. He threw out a curse that made Bob let go of him instantly, as if he’d been electroshocked. Bob snarled something at him, unseeing, unhearing. “Bob - STOP IT!” Harry demanded, using all his strength to fend Bob off.
Bob’s hair was plastered to his forehead and rivulets of sweat creased his face. The look in his eyes was oddly vacant, as if he wasn’t quite there. He looked at Harry and in a sense saw him, but in another sense Harry realized that he didn’t; he was lost in his own nightmares. He appeared caught in the grip of a passion he couldn’t control; his body was wrapped in an electricity of its own.
After what seemed to Harry like a very long time, the storms began to spend themselves - Bob’s against Harry, and Mother Nature’s above them. Thunder rumbled softly now, infrequent, followed at a distance by lacy flickers of lightning. He could still hear steady rain, but a slight breeze could now be felt bringing a welcome coolness to the atmosphere.
As his breathing slowed and his posture lost some of its tension, Bob continued to stand at the end of the couch, staring off into space. It almost looked like he was coming out of some sort of trance. Finally, their eyes met.
“Harry?” He sounded like a completely different person now. The anger was gone, replaced by uncertainty. “What happened here?”
Harry straightened up slowly, gritting his teeth to keep from groaning.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” he snapped.
“Why were you shouting at me? Why…um…why are your trousers missing?”
“Because you jumped me in the dark when I came in and pretty much raped me,” Harry told him bluntly.
“I what? Why on earth would I do that?” He registered shock at the idea. “This is a very bad joke, Harry.”
“Gods, I wish I was joking.” Harry looked him straight in the eye. “I was hurt and exhausted from a day of fighting the bad guys, and all I wanted was you and a hot shower, and what I got was you wanting to beat the crap out of me, swearing, trying to screw me into submission for - what, I don’t know. You hurt me - my body, and my heart too, when you did that. Why? What the fuck were you thinking? If I hadn’t been able to stop you, you would have really hurt me. That’s not a good feeling, Bob.”
Bob continued to stare down at him. Harry could see him slowly take in the state of his own clothes, and the blood, cuts and bruises on Harry’s body. Awkwardly, he straightened himself and zipped up his pants.
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember,” he moaned. “Why would I do something so vile? I love you. Why would I - ?”
“I don’t know. Do you think someone could have put a spell on you?” Harry asked. He searched for any sign of cunning or subterfuge in Bob’s responses. As far as he could tell, Bob seemed genuinely puzzled and horrified, as if he’d been told he had done something disgusting during a seizure. “Alcohol? Any kind of potion or spell you’ve been playing around with?”
Bob shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. I was cataloging your books and freshening some ingredients for basic spells, but - no, nothing that would make me do such a thing,” he shuddered. “For the past couple of hours I was just waiting for you to come home. I was worried about you.”
“But could someone have - ”
“Let’s find out.” There was a very odd tone in Bob’s voice.
Bob walked into the kitchen and opened the knife drawer. Caught by surprise, Harry followed as quickly as he could. He gasped as Bob drew a knife across his left inner forearm and blood began to well up out of a sizeable cut.
“Dammit, Bob, what the hell - ” Harry reached out quickly, relieved to find that he was able to take the knife out of Bob’s hand without protest. Ignoring him, Bob turned up the gas flame on the stove and held his arm over the burner until blood dripped into the flames. Nothing out of the ordinary happened; the flames didn’t change color or intensity, and the blood just flowed. Bob looked up.
“No. No spell,” he informed Harry numbly.
“There are other ways of finding that out,” Harry hissed. He was beginning to realize that something was seriously wrong with Bob. He wrapped a towel around the arm and steered him back to the couch. He sat with his fingers pressed tightly against the wound for a good fifteen or twenty minutes before he let go, praying he wouldn’t see fresh bleeding.
“Don’t move a muscle until I come back, all right?” Harry told him. Bob looked up at him and nodded, lost in a fog. Could he have had a seizure? Harry wanted to think there was a good, logical reason for all of this. His bad day had turned into a nightmare.
He went into the bathroom and came back with bandages and tape. He quickly disinfected the cut, which only oozed now. He wrapped the arm as tightly as he dared without risking cutting off circulation and taped it securely. Bob remained silent and biddable, his behavior the total opposite of a scant half hour before.
“You tell me if it starts to bleed again. Promise me!” Harry spoke firmly.
“Yes, Harry.”
Somehow, Harry didn’t have a great deal of confidence in the ambiguous response. He had a flash on Bob, in whatever state this was that he was in, opening it up again and letting himself bleed to death. He shuddered, and hoped it wasn’t prophetic.
“I need to take a shower and clean up. Will you sit here and wait for me?”
Harry’s heart was pounding with anxiety. He’d been all ready to lay into Bob, to really let him have it for whatever crap was behind his nasty little sneak attack-cum-rape, but this very strange behavior had thrown him for a loop. He didn’t think Bob was faking anything, and whatever was going on, it was scaring him as much as it was upsetting Bob. He hurt like hell, but he was more worried about Bob than anything else.
Bob looked up at him again, and his eyes filled with tears.
“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, taking in Harry’s appearance again. “Did I do that? Your face, and your arms? I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands.
“No, no Bob, you didn’t do all this, it happened this afternoon,” Harry assured him. “It’s why I was late. I couldn’t let you know. I’m sorry,” Harry told him.
“Late. Yes, you were late. And I was angry. I was so angry with you. But why did I - ? My God, Harry.” His voice quavered.
“Bob. I really need to get in the shower. Please just sit here until I’m out. Please,” Harry asked again softly. “It’s something you can do for me.” He felt about at the end of his rope as far as patience, but he was afraid that anything he might say or do could really spook Bob. “I’m going to leave the door open, so don’t go doing anything crazy.”
“Yes,” Bob agreed, slumping back on the couch, looking every bit his 600-plus years, “you go on, and don’t worry about me.”
Not worry about him? SHIT! Nevertheless, Harry went into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. First things first, and he couldn’t function until this was done. He turned the water on as hard and as hot as he could stand. It stung his battered body, but it also caused a surge of adrenaline. He would have much preferred endorphins right now, but he needed energy to get through the next few hours, and his reserves were just about gone. The application of soap made him grit his teeth and want to scream, but he scrubbed diligently. The pain helped him focus.
Something had taken control of Bob to the point where he’d pretty much lost it, and didn’t remember what he’d done or why he’d done it. This was so unlike the Bob he knew. Sex with Bob was always lovemaking, even when he was fucking him into the floor. But then, he had only known the flesh-and-blood Bob for a few months. Was that sadistic bully Bob too? Was there a ‘real Bob’, or was there two of them? Had this been Hrothbert? Harry’s head hurt.
What if every nasty thing about Bob that had been hinted at by the Council had all been true? What if he hadn’t changed at all, and all he’d said and done since then had been just a smokescreen?
Harry considered this as he dried himself, realizing that the towel, streaked with blood, was now going to be fit only for washing the dog, if they had a dog. Justin had warned him about Bob; Morgan and Mai had warned him. Bob had warned him. If it was all true, every bit of it, then it meant that he loved something evil at its heart.
No. It meant that he loved a man who had once been considered the epitome of evil, yes - but Harry could not - would not - believe that the man hadn’t changed. He thought back across the years to when he first came to the Morningway estate, when he was still a very innocent kid. There were so many times Bob could have dealt with him in a nasty way, getting him in trouble with Justin, and countless times he could have been mean just because he felt like it…if he’d felt like it. But he hadn’t behaved that way, not even once. And has Harry grew older, Bob had tried hard to keep him away from the Black. He hadn’t just given his protestations as lip service, Harry knew he’d meant them. That was the one thing he’d always been very strict with Harry about.
Gingerly, Harry applied antiseptic and Band-Aids where he could reach, and hoped things would be okay where he couldn’t. He swallowed some aspirin and codeine and prayed it would take the edge off the giant throbbing pain that was his body right now.
When Bob had told him about why he’d been cursed, Harry had the feeling that in hindsight he’d regretted what he’d done. He’d changed, and Harry knew that even Morgan had begun to see it, although he wouldn’t want to admit it. No, he wouldn’t believe that Bob was damned because his motivations and desires were still the same as they had been when he’d been cursed.
Yet something tugged at the corner of Harry’s brain. All people aren’t wizards, but all wizards are people. He was a wizard, but he was Harry, and he wasn’t like Bob who wasn’t like Morgan, etc. He’d been forgetting about the human aspect of the puzzle. Being a wizard wasn’t all there was to Bob…and Bob wasn’t all there was to Bob either. He’d only been Bob for a small fraction of his life. For many centuries, he’d been Hrothbert, and Harry knew less about Hrothbert’s life than he did about Morgan’s. Maybe he’d jumped the gun when he assumed that this had to do with magic and sorcery; maybe it had to do with just being human…again. Perhaps it was time to try and get to know Hrothbert.
“Harry?”
Bob stood in the doorway, looking very subdued but slightly more himself. He held out shorts and a clean t-shirt.
“Thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.” Harry tried to make his smile reassuring, but found the smile itself difficult. He put the clothes on, ran a comb through his wet hair, and went back into the living room.
Sitting on the coffee table was some warmed up lasagna and a cold beer.
“You must be starving,” Bob offered, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“Yeah, I am. Thanks. Are you having anything?” Harry asked, sitting on the couch and taking a long swig of beer.
“I couldn’t…”
“Bob - come here. Sit,” Harry ordered quietly, indicating the other end of the couch.
“I - ”
“I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you, and I’m not afraid to have you near me. Now that that’s settled, will you sit down?” Harry told him, gesturing. Bob sat as if the cushion was covered in eggshells.
“And quit thinking about doing some kind of penance for my sake. I don’t need or want you to beat yourself up over this,” Harry assured him between bites, fairly wolfing the food down. “I’m just worried about you. I love you,” he added, reminding himself as well as Bob. He couldn’t allow himself to stop and think about what Bob had tried to do, the fact that he would have raped him if he could; that it was what he’d intended to do. It hurt too much to think of that person as Bob. It couldn’t be Bob; if it was, his whole world was being turned upside down.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” Bob murmured.
“Huh. Worry about you, or love you, or both? Way too late for that - I’m hooked,” Harry returned, reaching out to put a hand over Bob’s.
“I’m not lovable, Harry. I never have been,” Bob sighed.
“Bullshit. What’s past can honestly be past. You have to believe that, Bob,” Harry told him firmly.
“I’d like to believe it, but after what I did how can you - ”
“I think you and I have to convince Hrothbert that history doesn’t have to repeat itself. What do you think?” Harry asked, watching Bob’s face. A look of extreme pain came over the wise, kind features he knew so well. Harry held his own breath as he saw that Bob literally stopped breathing for a very long moment, before speaking again.
“I don’t know if it’s possible,” Bob admitted, “and I don’t intend to try, because the stakes are entirely too high to risk failure.”
"Of all the things I’ve heard it said about Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I’ve never heard he was afraid of anything,” Harry reminded him.
“That’s precisely what he wanted people to think,” Bob whispered, his gaze far away, but clear. “He was quite successful - but at what cost?” He looked at Harry then. “If he causes me to lose you, I will bury him, and myself, forever, no matter what it takes.” His voice, and the hand beneath Harry’s, were shaking. Harry held on tight.
“Don’t! We’ll get through this, together,” Harry told him. “No running away to save me from you. No more burying your head in the sand. We have to tackle this head-on; talk about it, puzzle it out, and take care of it. Deal with it. No more secrets, Bob. I have to get to know Hrothbert. You see that, don’t you?” Harry coaxed.
“No! Harry, if you knew - ! I can’t. I can’t!” Bob groaned, turning away. He would have fled, but Harry wouldn’t let go of him.
“It couldn’t be any worse than all the rumors I’ve already heard,” Harry returned. When Bob turned back to him, there was real fear in the sea green eyes.
“They don’t know the half of it. The Council only think they know, but they don’t. No one knows. You couldn’t conceive of what ‘worse’ might be, Harry. Don’t force me to tell you,” he begged.
An icy knot had formed in Harry’s stomach. What if Bob was right? If he knew all that Bob had done, maybe he wouldn’t be able to stomach Hrothbert’s deeds. Maybe he would stop loving him. It might be better to leave this alone. But if they did, neither of them could be sure of the other again, and instead of the tentative foothold Hrothbert was attempting to gain, he might return with a vengeance and destroy both of them.
Life, Harry had learned in his relatively few years, was what you made it. You adapted. You learned your lessons and you moved on, profiting from your mistakes. You didn’t let life make you. If that was a lesson Hrothbert hadn’t quite learned yet, he was going to do his damndest to make sure Bob knew it.
“I won’t force you to tell me anything, Bob,” he reassured softly. “No good would come of that. I just hope you’ll come to trust me enough to tell me, and that you’ll be sure enough of my love that you won’t be afraid, when the time comes.”
“What have I done to deserve you, Harry?” Bob choked, reaching out to touch his cheek.
“Been yourself,” Harry responded. “Your honest, gentle, kind, affectionate, lovable self. Hrothbert as he was born, not as he was forced to live,” he guessed. His heart twisted when he saw Bob’s head bow briefly in pained acknowledgement before he buried his face against Harry’s neck. He hugged Bob against him, stroking the white hair.
“It’ll be all right, sweetheart,” Harry soothed.
Truly my love, you cannot imagine the atrocities I have committed in my misguided attempt to maintain control over my life. I often think that what my father said about me was true; I have been nothing but a cruel joke on my family and myself since the wretched day I was born. How can you possibly understand me? I do not understand myself. That monster is me, however much I wish to leave him behind.
I have known since early childhood that the world belongs only to the strong, to those who dominate and terrorize, those who inspire fear and loathing. I had no choice but to suffocate young Robin; if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have survived past childhood. Only one person ever understood Robin, but they all understood and feared Hrothbert. Now I am ‘Bob’, but who is he? I don’t know! Hrothbert knows too much, and is too strong, to go quietly. Eventually, he’ll tell Harry what he wants to know. I’ll try to stop him, but I won’t be able to, because no part of me can deny Harry anything. I fear I’m too old to emerge victorious - too weak, as always. My only hope is Harry, who is young enough and strong enough to conquer anything.
When they went up to bed, Harry had to insist that he still wanted Bob in bed with him. The more Bob tried to distance himself physically, the easier it would be to drift away emotionally as well, and Harry knew exactly where that road would lead. He would have to keep a firm emotional leash on Bob until this was all sorted out, or he could wake up one morning and find him gone, literally, and that didn’t bear thinking about.
Most of what he’d said to Bob had been taking shots in the dark, and when he realized they had hit home, Harry knew he’d have to do some careful thinking about where to go next. He wanted Bob to talk to him, but it had to be voluntary and it should make Bob feel more at ease with him, not less. The Gods knew, he was neither the perfect psychoanalyst nor the perfect lover, but he had no choice.
The story is complete, never fear. I finished last weekend. I’ll be posting it in...not sure how many parts yet. I’m aiming for chapters that are long enough but not too long, and which end on either a high or a low note. We’ll see how I manage that!
Title: A Heart Out of Time, Part One
Author: Anne Fairchild
Summary: The past can come back to haunt you...literally. Sometimes, you need help finding out who you really are.
Rating: NC-17 for Part One
Warnings: For this part - rape and heavy angst. This is a very angsty fic in general, and will periodically feature descriptions of violent acts and Not Nice stuff. Chapter One, however, is the only one that IMO merits a ‘real’ warning, for the non-con.
Word Count: 4,128
Disclaimer: I don’t own these lovely lads and I’m certainly not making any profit from them, but I love ‘em dearly. For entertainment purposes only.
Beta’d by:
pinkdoom and
murielperun. Hugs, kisses and boxes of chocolates to both of them. I doubt I would have finished the fic, and certainly not as “quickly” (lol, speed being relative here) without
pinkdoom's ever-present encouragement and wise counsel. Not to mention her lively enthusiasm when I was wondering what the heck I was doing!
Author’s Note: Borrowing a leaf (or rather, a sentence) from
pinkdoom, “yes, I’ve committed the “corporeal Bob, no explanation” sin again, but for a reason other than just to write porn.” I too am a ‘relationship person’ - for me it’s all about what makes them tick - both within a relationship and within themselves, and how those things meld.
I did a lot of research for this fic in the areas of history, geography, costuming, and certain current laws and customs. I twisted a few things here and there but not much, because I wanted it to be as accurate as I could make it without boring y’all to death. I have done a mini-website with several pages of photos to go along with the fic, but I won’t be giving out the URLs until I’ve posted far enough along in the story that you won’t be spoiled.
The storm that had been brewing over the city all day broke just as Harry got into the Bug to crawl home. It turned Chicago into a gritty, steaming jungle. It was a real deluge, almost a flash flood - the sort of rain where you can hardly see a car length in front of you, and all you want to do is get inside and be out of it. The power had gone out in some areas, and as he drove across town often the only light in the streets was the frequent flash of lightning, preceded by loud cracks and booms of thunder.
He’d expected to be home hours ago, having a cozy evening in with Bob. Instead, he’d gotten caught up in a homemade Santeria summoning-gone-wrong and here he was, late, hungry, bloody and sore. All he wanted was a hot shower, food and Bob, not necessarily in that order.
As he got out of the car, feeling every abrasion and bruise, he saw that the power was out here too. Great. No hot shower. No hot dinner. Still, he was home, and Bob would be waiting. But he would be soaked by the time he got inside.
He took down the wards and opened the door, slipping inside and shaking himself like a dog. Steam rose off his clothes.
“Bob?” he called out. Odd that he couldn’t see any light in the back of the apartment.
Without warning, he was grabbed from behind, his wrists held firmly behind his back.
“Where have you been?”
The voice was barely recognizable as Bob’s - harsh, and cold. Wow, he must be seriously pissed off. Had he forgotten Harry couldn’t use cell phones?
“Sorry, sorry. Things got complicated. I couldn’t…”
“Shut up,” the voice growled in his ear. “Inconsiderate bastard.”
“Bob, what the fu-”
“Shut UP!” Thunder rumbled loudly above them.
He was pushed against his desk, stumbling in the dark. His hands were now immobilized by magic, as he couldn’t feel Bob’s hands any longer; he heard the sound of a zipper behind him.
“Bob, wait a minute, just slow down.” Harry was beginning to feel a little panicked. Was this Bob, or some sort of evil doppelganger?
“Fuck you.” His own zipper was released, and his jeans and briefs yanked down to his knees.
“I said I was sor-”
“Not good enough.”
Shaking, Harry was on the verge of asking Bob if he was going to rape him when he heard a hurried search of the desk. There was a brief pause, and Harry felt a hard finger push something cold inside him and spread it with clinical precision. Bob was clearly very angry with him, but also apparently wasn’t intending to be deliberately vicious.
He was entered in one quick, deep thrust, with so much force that his chin slammed against the desk. He couldn’t find any balance because his hands were immobilized behind him. The only thing he could do was lay his face on the desk and hope he didn’t come in contact with anything sharp.
It hurt. Whatever Bob had used wasn’t as effective as regular lube, and he wasn’t exactly feeling relaxed right now. He’d never thought he’d consider Bob’s size a disadvantage, but then, he hadn’t envisioned this little scenario.
There was a furious anger behind every thrust, as if Bob felt the need to punish him for something. Hard, quick…and very unsettling. This was a side of Bob he’d seldom seen before, and it had never applied to him. Scary was putting it mildly.
“Thoughtless son of a bitch,” he heard behind him as he bit back a groan of pain.
Bob’s hands were either clamped rigidly on his hips where they would be leaving bruises, or pulling his hair, twisting his head back…wanting him to feel pain. What the hell was going on?
Growls of frustration and anger were being ground out at his back, ultimately eliding into hurt, almost wounded sounds. As the vocalizations muted, the anger behind the thrusts lessened slightly, if not the intensity. Just when Harry thought his aching back might break, Bob withdrew and pulled him up.
“In here,” he commanded, pushing Harry into the living room. Flashes of lightning lit their way. The smell of ozone was sharp in the air.
By the light of a single candle, he could finally see Bob’s face, intense and full of anger and pain. The normally pale eyes were all black pupil. There were large, dark blots of sweat where Bob’s shirt stuck to his body.
Wordlessly, Bob pulled off Harry’s jeans and underwear, tossing them over the couch to the floor. He shoved Harry’s legs back roughly, bringing him to the edge of the cushion.
Shit! Whatever this was, it had to stop, now, before things went so far that neither of them could go back. The spell Bob was using had worked because of the element of surprise. One thing Harry had finally realized over the years was that although Bob had the greater knowledge of matters arcane and probably always would, in terms of sheer magical juice, he was stronger than Bob. He had a natural, raw power that could, and had, shocked Bob many times. Apparently now was one of the times he needed to use it.
“BOB! Enough!” Harry growled. He threw out a curse that made Bob let go of him instantly, as if he’d been electroshocked. Bob snarled something at him, unseeing, unhearing. “Bob - STOP IT!” Harry demanded, using all his strength to fend Bob off.
Bob’s hair was plastered to his forehead and rivulets of sweat creased his face. The look in his eyes was oddly vacant, as if he wasn’t quite there. He looked at Harry and in a sense saw him, but in another sense Harry realized that he didn’t; he was lost in his own nightmares. He appeared caught in the grip of a passion he couldn’t control; his body was wrapped in an electricity of its own.
After what seemed to Harry like a very long time, the storms began to spend themselves - Bob’s against Harry, and Mother Nature’s above them. Thunder rumbled softly now, infrequent, followed at a distance by lacy flickers of lightning. He could still hear steady rain, but a slight breeze could now be felt bringing a welcome coolness to the atmosphere.
As his breathing slowed and his posture lost some of its tension, Bob continued to stand at the end of the couch, staring off into space. It almost looked like he was coming out of some sort of trance. Finally, their eyes met.
“Harry?” He sounded like a completely different person now. The anger was gone, replaced by uncertainty. “What happened here?”
Harry straightened up slowly, gritting his teeth to keep from groaning.
“I was hoping you could tell me,” he snapped.
“Why were you shouting at me? Why…um…why are your trousers missing?”
“Because you jumped me in the dark when I came in and pretty much raped me,” Harry told him bluntly.
“I what? Why on earth would I do that?” He registered shock at the idea. “This is a very bad joke, Harry.”
“Gods, I wish I was joking.” Harry looked him straight in the eye. “I was hurt and exhausted from a day of fighting the bad guys, and all I wanted was you and a hot shower, and what I got was you wanting to beat the crap out of me, swearing, trying to screw me into submission for - what, I don’t know. You hurt me - my body, and my heart too, when you did that. Why? What the fuck were you thinking? If I hadn’t been able to stop you, you would have really hurt me. That’s not a good feeling, Bob.”
Bob continued to stare down at him. Harry could see him slowly take in the state of his own clothes, and the blood, cuts and bruises on Harry’s body. Awkwardly, he straightened himself and zipped up his pants.
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember,” he moaned. “Why would I do something so vile? I love you. Why would I - ?”
“I don’t know. Do you think someone could have put a spell on you?” Harry asked. He searched for any sign of cunning or subterfuge in Bob’s responses. As far as he could tell, Bob seemed genuinely puzzled and horrified, as if he’d been told he had done something disgusting during a seizure. “Alcohol? Any kind of potion or spell you’ve been playing around with?”
Bob shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think so. I was cataloging your books and freshening some ingredients for basic spells, but - no, nothing that would make me do such a thing,” he shuddered. “For the past couple of hours I was just waiting for you to come home. I was worried about you.”
“But could someone have - ”
“Let’s find out.” There was a very odd tone in Bob’s voice.
Bob walked into the kitchen and opened the knife drawer. Caught by surprise, Harry followed as quickly as he could. He gasped as Bob drew a knife across his left inner forearm and blood began to well up out of a sizeable cut.
“Dammit, Bob, what the hell - ” Harry reached out quickly, relieved to find that he was able to take the knife out of Bob’s hand without protest. Ignoring him, Bob turned up the gas flame on the stove and held his arm over the burner until blood dripped into the flames. Nothing out of the ordinary happened; the flames didn’t change color or intensity, and the blood just flowed. Bob looked up.
“No. No spell,” he informed Harry numbly.
“There are other ways of finding that out,” Harry hissed. He was beginning to realize that something was seriously wrong with Bob. He wrapped a towel around the arm and steered him back to the couch. He sat with his fingers pressed tightly against the wound for a good fifteen or twenty minutes before he let go, praying he wouldn’t see fresh bleeding.
“Don’t move a muscle until I come back, all right?” Harry told him. Bob looked up at him and nodded, lost in a fog. Could he have had a seizure? Harry wanted to think there was a good, logical reason for all of this. His bad day had turned into a nightmare.
He went into the bathroom and came back with bandages and tape. He quickly disinfected the cut, which only oozed now. He wrapped the arm as tightly as he dared without risking cutting off circulation and taped it securely. Bob remained silent and biddable, his behavior the total opposite of a scant half hour before.
“You tell me if it starts to bleed again. Promise me!” Harry spoke firmly.
“Yes, Harry.”
Somehow, Harry didn’t have a great deal of confidence in the ambiguous response. He had a flash on Bob, in whatever state this was that he was in, opening it up again and letting himself bleed to death. He shuddered, and hoped it wasn’t prophetic.
“I need to take a shower and clean up. Will you sit here and wait for me?”
Harry’s heart was pounding with anxiety. He’d been all ready to lay into Bob, to really let him have it for whatever crap was behind his nasty little sneak attack-cum-rape, but this very strange behavior had thrown him for a loop. He didn’t think Bob was faking anything, and whatever was going on, it was scaring him as much as it was upsetting Bob. He hurt like hell, but he was more worried about Bob than anything else.
Bob looked up at him again, and his eyes filled with tears.
“Oh Harry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, taking in Harry’s appearance again. “Did I do that? Your face, and your arms? I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands.
“No, no Bob, you didn’t do all this, it happened this afternoon,” Harry assured him. “It’s why I was late. I couldn’t let you know. I’m sorry,” Harry told him.
“Late. Yes, you were late. And I was angry. I was so angry with you. But why did I - ? My God, Harry.” His voice quavered.
“Bob. I really need to get in the shower. Please just sit here until I’m out. Please,” Harry asked again softly. “It’s something you can do for me.” He felt about at the end of his rope as far as patience, but he was afraid that anything he might say or do could really spook Bob. “I’m going to leave the door open, so don’t go doing anything crazy.”
“Yes,” Bob agreed, slumping back on the couch, looking every bit his 600-plus years, “you go on, and don’t worry about me.”
Not worry about him? SHIT! Nevertheless, Harry went into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. First things first, and he couldn’t function until this was done. He turned the water on as hard and as hot as he could stand. It stung his battered body, but it also caused a surge of adrenaline. He would have much preferred endorphins right now, but he needed energy to get through the next few hours, and his reserves were just about gone. The application of soap made him grit his teeth and want to scream, but he scrubbed diligently. The pain helped him focus.
Something had taken control of Bob to the point where he’d pretty much lost it, and didn’t remember what he’d done or why he’d done it. This was so unlike the Bob he knew. Sex with Bob was always lovemaking, even when he was fucking him into the floor. But then, he had only known the flesh-and-blood Bob for a few months. Was that sadistic bully Bob too? Was there a ‘real Bob’, or was there two of them? Had this been Hrothbert? Harry’s head hurt.
What if every nasty thing about Bob that had been hinted at by the Council had all been true? What if he hadn’t changed at all, and all he’d said and done since then had been just a smokescreen?
Harry considered this as he dried himself, realizing that the towel, streaked with blood, was now going to be fit only for washing the dog, if they had a dog. Justin had warned him about Bob; Morgan and Mai had warned him. Bob had warned him. If it was all true, every bit of it, then it meant that he loved something evil at its heart.
No. It meant that he loved a man who had once been considered the epitome of evil, yes - but Harry could not - would not - believe that the man hadn’t changed. He thought back across the years to when he first came to the Morningway estate, when he was still a very innocent kid. There were so many times Bob could have dealt with him in a nasty way, getting him in trouble with Justin, and countless times he could have been mean just because he felt like it…if he’d felt like it. But he hadn’t behaved that way, not even once. And has Harry grew older, Bob had tried hard to keep him away from the Black. He hadn’t just given his protestations as lip service, Harry knew he’d meant them. That was the one thing he’d always been very strict with Harry about.
Gingerly, Harry applied antiseptic and Band-Aids where he could reach, and hoped things would be okay where he couldn’t. He swallowed some aspirin and codeine and prayed it would take the edge off the giant throbbing pain that was his body right now.
When Bob had told him about why he’d been cursed, Harry had the feeling that in hindsight he’d regretted what he’d done. He’d changed, and Harry knew that even Morgan had begun to see it, although he wouldn’t want to admit it. No, he wouldn’t believe that Bob was damned because his motivations and desires were still the same as they had been when he’d been cursed.
Yet something tugged at the corner of Harry’s brain. All people aren’t wizards, but all wizards are people. He was a wizard, but he was Harry, and he wasn’t like Bob who wasn’t like Morgan, etc. He’d been forgetting about the human aspect of the puzzle. Being a wizard wasn’t all there was to Bob…and Bob wasn’t all there was to Bob either. He’d only been Bob for a small fraction of his life. For many centuries, he’d been Hrothbert, and Harry knew less about Hrothbert’s life than he did about Morgan’s. Maybe he’d jumped the gun when he assumed that this had to do with magic and sorcery; maybe it had to do with just being human…again. Perhaps it was time to try and get to know Hrothbert.
“Harry?”
Bob stood in the doorway, looking very subdued but slightly more himself. He held out shorts and a clean t-shirt.
“Thanks. I’ll be out in a minute.” Harry tried to make his smile reassuring, but found the smile itself difficult. He put the clothes on, ran a comb through his wet hair, and went back into the living room.
Sitting on the coffee table was some warmed up lasagna and a cold beer.
“You must be starving,” Bob offered, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.
“Yeah, I am. Thanks. Are you having anything?” Harry asked, sitting on the couch and taking a long swig of beer.
“I couldn’t…”
“Bob - come here. Sit,” Harry ordered quietly, indicating the other end of the couch.
“I - ”
“I’m not mad at you. I don’t hate you, and I’m not afraid to have you near me. Now that that’s settled, will you sit down?” Harry told him, gesturing. Bob sat as if the cushion was covered in eggshells.
“And quit thinking about doing some kind of penance for my sake. I don’t need or want you to beat yourself up over this,” Harry assured him between bites, fairly wolfing the food down. “I’m just worried about you. I love you,” he added, reminding himself as well as Bob. He couldn’t allow himself to stop and think about what Bob had tried to do, the fact that he would have raped him if he could; that it was what he’d intended to do. It hurt too much to think of that person as Bob. It couldn’t be Bob; if it was, his whole world was being turned upside down.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” Bob murmured.
“Huh. Worry about you, or love you, or both? Way too late for that - I’m hooked,” Harry returned, reaching out to put a hand over Bob’s.
“I’m not lovable, Harry. I never have been,” Bob sighed.
“Bullshit. What’s past can honestly be past. You have to believe that, Bob,” Harry told him firmly.
“I’d like to believe it, but after what I did how can you - ”
“I think you and I have to convince Hrothbert that history doesn’t have to repeat itself. What do you think?” Harry asked, watching Bob’s face. A look of extreme pain came over the wise, kind features he knew so well. Harry held his own breath as he saw that Bob literally stopped breathing for a very long moment, before speaking again.
“I don’t know if it’s possible,” Bob admitted, “and I don’t intend to try, because the stakes are entirely too high to risk failure.”
"Of all the things I’ve heard it said about Hrothbert of Bainbridge, I’ve never heard he was afraid of anything,” Harry reminded him.
“That’s precisely what he wanted people to think,” Bob whispered, his gaze far away, but clear. “He was quite successful - but at what cost?” He looked at Harry then. “If he causes me to lose you, I will bury him, and myself, forever, no matter what it takes.” His voice, and the hand beneath Harry’s, were shaking. Harry held on tight.
“Don’t! We’ll get through this, together,” Harry told him. “No running away to save me from you. No more burying your head in the sand. We have to tackle this head-on; talk about it, puzzle it out, and take care of it. Deal with it. No more secrets, Bob. I have to get to know Hrothbert. You see that, don’t you?” Harry coaxed.
“No! Harry, if you knew - ! I can’t. I can’t!” Bob groaned, turning away. He would have fled, but Harry wouldn’t let go of him.
“It couldn’t be any worse than all the rumors I’ve already heard,” Harry returned. When Bob turned back to him, there was real fear in the sea green eyes.
“They don’t know the half of it. The Council only think they know, but they don’t. No one knows. You couldn’t conceive of what ‘worse’ might be, Harry. Don’t force me to tell you,” he begged.
An icy knot had formed in Harry’s stomach. What if Bob was right? If he knew all that Bob had done, maybe he wouldn’t be able to stomach Hrothbert’s deeds. Maybe he would stop loving him. It might be better to leave this alone. But if they did, neither of them could be sure of the other again, and instead of the tentative foothold Hrothbert was attempting to gain, he might return with a vengeance and destroy both of them.
Life, Harry had learned in his relatively few years, was what you made it. You adapted. You learned your lessons and you moved on, profiting from your mistakes. You didn’t let life make you. If that was a lesson Hrothbert hadn’t quite learned yet, he was going to do his damndest to make sure Bob knew it.
“I won’t force you to tell me anything, Bob,” he reassured softly. “No good would come of that. I just hope you’ll come to trust me enough to tell me, and that you’ll be sure enough of my love that you won’t be afraid, when the time comes.”
“What have I done to deserve you, Harry?” Bob choked, reaching out to touch his cheek.
“Been yourself,” Harry responded. “Your honest, gentle, kind, affectionate, lovable self. Hrothbert as he was born, not as he was forced to live,” he guessed. His heart twisted when he saw Bob’s head bow briefly in pained acknowledgement before he buried his face against Harry’s neck. He hugged Bob against him, stroking the white hair.
“It’ll be all right, sweetheart,” Harry soothed.
Truly my love, you cannot imagine the atrocities I have committed in my misguided attempt to maintain control over my life. I often think that what my father said about me was true; I have been nothing but a cruel joke on my family and myself since the wretched day I was born. How can you possibly understand me? I do not understand myself. That monster is me, however much I wish to leave him behind.
I have known since early childhood that the world belongs only to the strong, to those who dominate and terrorize, those who inspire fear and loathing. I had no choice but to suffocate young Robin; if I hadn’t, he wouldn’t have survived past childhood. Only one person ever understood Robin, but they all understood and feared Hrothbert. Now I am ‘Bob’, but who is he? I don’t know! Hrothbert knows too much, and is too strong, to go quietly. Eventually, he’ll tell Harry what he wants to know. I’ll try to stop him, but I won’t be able to, because no part of me can deny Harry anything. I fear I’m too old to emerge victorious - too weak, as always. My only hope is Harry, who is young enough and strong enough to conquer anything.
When they went up to bed, Harry had to insist that he still wanted Bob in bed with him. The more Bob tried to distance himself physically, the easier it would be to drift away emotionally as well, and Harry knew exactly where that road would lead. He would have to keep a firm emotional leash on Bob until this was all sorted out, or he could wake up one morning and find him gone, literally, and that didn’t bear thinking about.
Most of what he’d said to Bob had been taking shots in the dark, and when he realized they had hit home, Harry knew he’d have to do some careful thinking about where to go next. He wanted Bob to talk to him, but it had to be voluntary and it should make Bob feel more at ease with him, not less. The Gods knew, he was neither the perfect psychoanalyst nor the perfect lover, but he had no choice.