FIC: A HEART OUT OF TIME, PART SIX-A
Beta’d by:
pinkdoom
Hugs, kisses and boxes of chocolates to Her Highness ;-)
Author’s Note: Bob has a very bad day indeed, followed by puh-lenty of comfort. I didn't want to split this up, but for some reason LJ isn't liking the length, so I've had to. Sorry!
One Two Three Four Five
After showering and having an early lunch, at Bob’s request they drove into Richmond. Using the cathedral and castle ruins as well as the two remaining ancient city walls as guides, Bob thought he’d found Master Bartholomew’s house. It was, disappointingly, in the middle of what was now a car park. Fanning out from what had been the old marketplace, he pointed out various sites to Harry, accompanied by anecdotes both serious and amusing. Harry noted that the nearer they came to the castle, the more jumpy and ill-at-ease Bob became, and the same with the historical marker indicating the spot where the medieval stocks used to stand in the marketplace. Clearly, not all of his memories of the town were so fond.
Harry suggested they drive back to Bainbridge, where Bob could meet Tessa if the shop was open - which it was. Emma was in what they would come to realize was her usual place just inside the entrance. She snuffled and yodeled softly in greeting to Harry, who cheerfully fussed over her. Bob, she seemed to quietly take in her stride, with much less ado - yet it was Bob she followed around the shop, and onto whose feet she dropped when they stayed to chat with Tessa.
Harry wasn’t sure if Bob was purposely intent on charming her, but if he wasn’t, it was working anyway - and it looked like vice versa as far as he could tell. The three of them were soon chatting away like old friends, something Harry had seen Bob do with very few people. They learned that Tessa been living in London, studying voice and drama, hoping for a singing career. But money had been in short supply, and she’d apparently had a relationship go sour as well, so when her uncle had needed her, she had come home. She wasn’t sure what she’d do, she told them, as her financial situation didn’t look as if it would ever get any brighter even if she sold the business, and she just didn’t have the heart to go back to London now, with her unhappy memories of a failed relationship.
The talk eventually turned to the last Lord of Bainbridge. Bob thanked Tessa profusely for the writing case, assuring her he would treasure it always. She asked if they had been to the hill above town, where the manor had once stood, not far from the Roman ruins. Not yet, but they would go tomorrow, Bob told her, surprising Harry in his firmness. It was something he’d always known he’d have to do when he got to the village, he continued. Harry got the feeling he was not looking forward to it.
Would they do her a favor, Tessa wondered, appealing to Harry, who had already demonstrated his fondness. Could they take Emma with them, for a good outing? She rarely got enough exercise, and it would do her a lot of good. Harry looked as if he would have said yes straightaway, but he deferred to Mr. Bainbridge...Robert, as he asked her to call him. He smiled, leaned down to pet Emma quietly, and said of course.
It was strange, Tessa mused as she watched Harry and Robert walk back up the high street, how clownishly enthusiastic the still-puppyish Emma was with Harry, whereas with Robert, she behaved as she had with Uncle Ted, who had been her ‘dad’. Well, he was older, and quieter than Harry. She liked his eyes. Odd, the sorts of vibes animals picked up from people. She wasn’t worried, though - Emma obviously adored both of them, and she trusted Emma’s instincts as well as her own. She sensed they were going through some sort of trouble, the same as she was, and they were good people, she was sure of it.
“So...what did you think of her?” Harry asked as they drank hot buttered rum, carried up from the bar, in front of the fire.
“Miss Mortimer, or Emma?” Bob asked drolly. “I noticed you were quite taken with the latter.” Harry rolled his eyes.
“Funny man.” He shook his head fondly.
“A sweet girl. You were right, Harry - no guile there, just a good, gentle soul.”
“So...she doesn’t remind you of...Winifride?” Harry asked. He’d known all along what Bob had feared from the moment he’d brought him the box.
“No. The color of her eyes is wrong, and her features - no, nothing about her reminds me of Winifride, believe me - least of all her heart,” Bob frowned, thoughtful, “for I don’t believe Winifride had one.”
“But she does remind you of someone else,” Harry gently prompted, tucking that last bit of information away for the future.
“Oh, yes. Not physically so much, except for her hair, perhaps.” Bob smiled. “But as far as the kind of person she is - yes, she’s much like another Mortimer,” he admitted, giving the name the French accent he had the other night.
“Is that why you felt so comfortable with her?”
Bob shrugged. “I suppose it must be.”
“Bob?” Harry asked quietly. “I’ve been very patient. The name, at least, of my rival?”
Bob turned to look at him, his expression unreadable for a moment.
“Gervase,” he answered softly, “and he has not been your rival for quite some time, my love.”
“But you loved him.”
“Yes, I did. At the time, I loved him more than I had ever cared for anything or anyone,” Bob admitted softly. “He understood me. He valued me for myself, as few have done. He wanted nothing from me but the love I bore him. I felt happy when I was with him - or what passed for happiness in my life then. Throughout the centuries of my imprisonment, and since I have known you, I have come to understand love, and happiness, in a way I could not have, then.” He smiled at Harry.
“One of the things I wanted to do in coming here is to honor my memory of him and his love for me. His loyalty cost him his life, sweet boy that he was. No cunning or dishonor in him, unlike the rest of his family.” The Hrothbert bitterness was strong in his voice. “But of course, I suppose I deserved what I got, speaking of cunning and dishonor,” he sighed, “even if Gervase did not.”
“Honor him with me, Harry. If it hadn’t been for my first love, I would not have been open to my brightest, strongest love,” Bob explained, “my Forever Love. Loving him made it possible for me to love you.”
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. “To Gervase,” he toasted, raising his glass towards Bob. “May he rest in peace, and know that you loved him.”
Tears welled in Bob’s eyes as he raised his glass in return. “Thank you, Harry.”
He fell silent then, and though they talked of other things that night, Bob didn’t mention his long-ago lover again. Harry, reassured that the specter of Gervase wasn’t going to haunt them, let Bob grieve in private.
@@@
The next morning, true to his announced intention, Bob was up early. The weather was only slightly drier that it had been the day before, and just as cold.
“Are you sure you really want to do this?” Harry asked, helping to load the boot. Bob looked up towards the hill and then at Harry.
“It’s not something I ‘want’ to do, Harry, but since it’s the reason we came here, it must be done. Otherwise, all your efforts would be for naught,” Bob reminded him. “Wallowing in the bosom of the village, pulling out the few fond memories I have in order to bolster myself with them... No. I must accept it all,” Bob sighed, getting in the car. “But I’m very glad you’re with me,” he confessed, giving Harry’s hand a squeeze as he started the car. From the back seat, Emma added her support with a soft ‘woof’.
Harry had a bad feeling, but he knew Bob was right, as Morgan had known. As much pain as there might be to come, it had to be, or Bob would never heal.
He found that for reasons he couldn’t entirely explain to himself, he was glad to have Emma along. She was a sweet dog, and since she’d first seen Bob she’d clung to him like glue whenever he was in her sight. It was a little strange, in a Twilight Zone kind of way, but cool, too.
Following Bob’s directions and the map, they drove all over the dales for most of the day, pausing here and there for Bob to get out, walk a bit, and remember. Harry respected his privacy and mostly stayed in the car. Emma, however, went with him, and he seemed to take comfort in her presence.
Harry noticed after a while that they hadn’t yet come near the area Tessa had indicated was the site of the old manor of Bainbridge - the place Bob acknowledged he had to go. Harry supposed he was working up his courage.
They drove over a considerable amount of the countryside, beautiful but rather bleak at this time of year, before Bob told Harry to swing back towards the village. He asked Harry to stop on the road just below the hill.
“I should do this alone,” Bob sighed, “although apparently I can’t go anywhere without Emma,” he smiled, scratching her behind the ears. “She’ll see I come to no harm.”
“Bob - ” Harry hesitated. “I don’t think I like this.”
“I know, love. No more do I. But it has to happen,” Bob insisted. Before he got out of the car, he leaned over and gave Harry a soft kiss.
Harry kissed him back, hugging tight for a moment before letting him go. The door slammed, and Bob and Emma were gone. It was eerily quiet for a city boy. The only sound was the cold wind whipping around the car, and the faint ticking of Harry’s Timex, the only watch he didn’t consistently fry.
Trying not to check the time, Harry leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, hoping against hope that Bob would be back in a few minutes, none the worse for wear. Yeahright.
He’d been surprised, going back to the night of Bob’s attack on him, how fragile he was when it came to his past life and his sentence. He felt a lot of guilt and pain over what he’d done, and the things that had happened to others because of him, and Harry didn’t believe it was only because Bob didn’t want him to know. That’s what Bob wanted him to think; Hrothbert of Bainbridge, the great and powerful wizard, couldn’t actually admit that he’d screwed up, even to himself. That’s what this trip was really about - Bob coming to terms with his mistakes and their consequences.
Harry was used to screwing up and being told in no uncertain terms that he had, and he was used to accepting the consequences, too. He’d always pretty much had a ‘what the hell, might as well go for it’ attitude towards life that Bob clearly didn’t. Poor Bob, this homecoming was going to be really tough on him.
The wind had picked up and it was misting again, heavily. It was cold, even inside the car. Harry fidgeted, and finally looked at his watch. Not quite half an hour had passed, but he was still uneasy. He jumped, almost hitting his head on the roof of the car, when Emma appeared at the window beside him, pawing at the door and whimpering. Shit.
Harry got out of the car and followed her without thinking. Whatever was between Bob and Emma, he believed in it. Lassie for real.
Bob stood just a few hundred yards above the road, near the bottom of the gently sloping hill. As Harry approached, he swayed and fell to his knees.
“Bob!” Harry knelt beside him. His eyes were wild and unseeing, far away. At first, he didn’t react to Harry’s presence. He shuddered, his body in the grip of some giant tetanic convulsion. He turned his head away and vomited, spasm after spasm shaking him like a rag doll. Harry moved behind him for support, one arm going around his chest and the other on the back of his neck.
Bob alternately cried out in anguish or murmured broken phrases in what Harry supposed must be an older version of English, because he was almost able to pick out individual words, even though they didn’t make sense as he had no context. The torment continued for so long that Harry began to wonder if Bob’s physical body could take it.
Finally there was no more to come up and Bob only retched, his body still captive to its compulsion. Holding him, Harry experienced his feelings of deep, heart-felt pain. Waves of misery emanated from him that Harry felt acutely. When Bob had told him about his life, especially his birth and childhood, he’d been pretty dispassionate and fairly controlled, considering what he was relating. All that pain was here, now, smashing through Bob like a tornado passing over a sapling. He was close to being borne away, Harry his only root.
As the spasms began to lessen, Harry pulled Bob back gently to rest against his chest, wrapping his arms around him, rocking.
“Shhhh, shhhhh,” he soothed, “I’ve got you. It’s okay, Bob,” he murmured into Bob’s icy ear. Gradually, he moved the two of them a few feet away, cradling Bob securely between his legs. Emma came to lie against them, and Harry was as glad of the warm animal comfort as Bob was.
Harry noticed that both Bob’s hands were clawed shut over handfuls of dirt. He opened them carefully, letting the dirt fall on the ground beside him. He had an odd visual flash as he did so, a sort of QuickTime clip of a crowd of people yelling, a feeling of sheer terror, and a man being...beheaded. Ohgod.
“Bob?” Harry asked very gently against his ear, “are you here? Is this where - ? ”
Bob didn’t answer, but his body jerked in Harry’s arms.
“Oh shit,” Harry sighed, pulling Bob tight against him, pressing his lips against hair, neck, earlobe, shoulder - anywhere he could reach. “I wish there was something I could do.” Bob leaned back into his embrace, trembling.
“You already are,” he murmured. “As much as anyone can.”
“It’s freezing, Bob. Let’s go back to the car, and go get warm and dry,” Harry coaxed.
“I have done so many things I’m ashamed of, Harry,” Bob rasped against his neck. “Evil, vile things. Just because I could do them, and for no other reason. Because I loved power, and enjoyed taking revenge on those whom I thought wronged me in some way. I am evil.”
“Can we talk about this in the car?” Harry asked quietly.
“So I will be comfortable? No, Harry,” he grated. “No. What better place than here, where I met my fitting end.”
Harry had expected as much. He hunkered down against the cold mist and tried to shield Bob from the weather as much as he could.
“After I inherited the manor, I began to work constantly on increasing my powers. I wanted to know all there was to know about the Black, and I had always been a good student, after all. If someone crossed me in business, unfortunate things happened - to their land, or their property. Even to their family. Sometimes, they died, after a painful illness. I am a murderer, many times over,” Bob ground out against Harry’s chest, his voice low and full of pain. “The veiled threats that some on the council make, I acted upon.”
“If someone insulted me, or spoke out in a manner I did not like, they were punished for it, one way or another. People began to talk. There was nothing they could put their finger on at first, but it was observed that if Hrothbert of Bainbridge favored someone, good things came their way in life - and if you angered the Lord of Bainbridge, you could be very unlucky indeed. I was feared and respected, as I had longed to be, but I was not what you would call happy, or even content,” Bob admitted, “because I had no wife, no heir - no one to share my life with.”
“The years passed, though they passed slowly for me, as I had by then learned the secret to slowing my body’s aging. People believed I was my own son and eventually grandson, because I willed them to believe it. I was so arrogant I never thought the Church would take notice, let alone act. I truly believed my enemies were powerless against me, more fool I!” Bob shook his head. “Something Merlin and I had in common, Harry - not seeing an enemy who stood before me, and not seeing or respecting my enemy’s abilities, because that enemy was a woman.” He shifted, resting his head under Harry’s jaw.
“Sir Guillaume Mortimer had been given an estate a few miles from my own, for service to the king. Although such things were not so much an issue as they had been a century or two earlier, the Mortimers intrigued the neighborhood, I guess you would say, because Sir Guillaume hailed from pure Norman stock, while the lady of the manor was from an old Saxon family,” Bob explained. “A union of money and power. Their children were further evidence of this dichotomy - the eldest daughter’s name was Winifride; her brother was Gervase. Only three of their children grew to adulthood - Winifride, Gervase, and the youngest, a girl called Aline. I suppose Tessa must be descended from her.
“Winifride was comely enough and intelligent enough that I schemed to make her my wife. When I learned secretly that she was also a student of the Black...well, that settled the matter for me, if not for her. She had no interest in marrying me at first - after all, I was some years older than she, to say the least. It was only when she learned about my interests, and my power, that she began to reconsider, and eventually agreed to marry me. I should have known!” Bob cried. “Somehow, I should have known. How could I not see it? I was cleverer than anyone else, was I not? Fool!” he wailed, clutching at Harry’s anorak.
Harry was trapped. He knew he couldn’t stop this dialogue; didn’t want to stop it, if it would help Bob. But it was freezing, and they were both soaking wet and shivering with the cold. Even Emma looked miserable. Harry wished he had a choice, but he didn’t see one; let Bob talk, or hustle him back to the hotel and perhaps never have this out.
“Men have always been fools, Bob, and not just for love,” was all he could think of to say. “You’re not immune.”
“I didn’t meet Gervase until my wedding day. He was learning to manage his mother’s estates in the south, but he came for the wedding. Not,” Bob sighed, “that Winifride was glad of it. I saw that they did not get on, but I didn’t understand the depth of their animosity; the hatred on Winifride’s part, until much later.
“Neither of them were what I expected.” He shook his head. “I had not looked for love in a wife - few did, then - but rather than being a pliable young woman who would be decoration on my arm and the dutiful mother of my children, Winifride became my nemesis in magic as well as in my bed. Why,” Bob groaned, “when I knew she was a student of the Black Arts, did I expect her to be a biddable wife? She wed me only for what I could teach her, she cared nothing for me. I had met my match in treachery,” he admitted.
“But Gervase - Gervase was her mirror image. He wanted nothing from me but myself.” Bob smiled slightly in remembrance. “He got past all my defenses with ridiculous ease, simply by not trying to get past them. By not recognizing that I even had any, bless him. He gave me the only happiness I’d had in my life - until, that is, a scruffy eleven-year-old was given into my charge - or perhaps I was given into his,” Bob sighed, leaning in to soak up Harry’s warmth. “But then, Harry - then, he was everything to me.”
“Our life together - Winifride, Gervase, and me - lasted several years before it all came crashing down, thanks to Winifride’s ambition and jealousy. There were never any children. I learned later that she had quickened twice with my seed, and had contrived to divest herself of the annoyance both times,” Bob relayed sadly.
“As my joy in Gervase continued to grow, so did her anger and jealousy towards him, and her recklessness when it came to the Black. She dared me, taunted me, until we became quite careless and both Church and Crown came to notice. Old enemies bided their time, waiting until one or the other of us made a move upon which they could pounce. Gervase and I, lost in ourselves, didn’t see the danger; well, he never did, and I only when the wheels of destiny were already in motion.”
Bob hesitated. It seemed as if he would speak, but he remained silent. He began to shiver uncontrollably, clinging to Harry like a drowning man. When Harry saw his face, he gasped; Bob’s skin was gray, his lips blue with cold.
“That’s enough,” Harry told him, “we’re going back to the hotel now, before we both catch our deaths.” He wasn’t worried about himself, but Bob was starting to scare the hell out of him.
“Yes Harry,” Bob whispered faintly against his neck, completely spent.
Struggling, Harry stood and brought Bob up with him. They scrambled down the hill, with Bob leaning heavily against him; once they reached the road Harry picked Bob up in his arms and carried him the rest of the way to the car.
Harry tugged a blanket snugly around Bob and a large towel around Emma, who was so wet her ears were dripping. He started the engine and turned the heater on full blast. Bob looked like shit. Harry’s hands and feet were numb with cold as he drove back down into the village, praying.
Harry rarely prayed while growing up, and after he went to live with Justin, not at all. It wasn’t that he disbelieved, exactly, but he’d never had the slightest sign that God was aware of his existence, so there didn’t seem to be much point. Now, however, he knew, as Bob knew, that they had been brought together for a reason by powers much stronger than themselves - and maybe it was time to say thank you, along with begging for Bob’s life.
Please God, I can’t lose him now. Please, don’t do that to us. You heard how sorry he is. I know you heard him. Please just let us have each other and we’ll never ask for anything else, pleaseplease.....
How he got Bob upstairs without both of them collapsing or making a scene in the lobby, Harry never knew. Emma trotted right behind them, and would not be put off. In a blur, he called the desk and explained to the manager that Mr. Bainbridge had gotten a good soaking and was feeling ill. He asked for fresh towels and some hot water bottles to be sent up, followed by a bottle of brandy and dinner.
He explained about Emma, and asked that someone take her back to Tessa. The manager hesitated, then told him that Tessa was away for a few hours, but that if they didn’t mind Emma could stay with them, or in the lobby if they preferred. As in many hotels in Britain, dogs were welcome in the rooms. Harry looked over at Emma, huddled on the bed close to Bob. He asked the manager for something for Emma’s dinner. No difficulty at all, sir. Everything is in motion, rest assured.
Putting the phone down, Harry fought a rising panic. He fumbled at starting a fire, barely taking the time to see that it caught. He put a towel down on the floor in front of the fireplace for Emma. For the first time since they’d arrived days ago, he turned on the hot water tap in the deep porcelain tub, ignoring the shower. While the water ran, he scrambled to collect what he thought he’d need. When the tub was full, he returned to Bob, whom he’d left bundled in a blanket on the bed. It had been less than fifteen minutes since they’d entered the room, but it felt like a century.
Bob’s general color was still bad and chills shook his body; tiny fever spots already burned in his cheeks. Harry stripped off his soaking wet clothes, dropping them in a soggy pile. He kicked off his own shoes and his wet sweater.
“I’ve got a hot bath ready,” he told Bob, lifting him around the waist. He was almost but not quite a dead weight, shuffling clumsily as Harry maneuvered them into the bathroom, and Bob into the tub. Bob winced at the temperature of the water as his skin began to turn pink; Harry knew it wasn’t hot enough to burn him. Bob’s breathing was harsh and interspersed with wheezes.
“Relax,” Harry encouraged. He squeezed water over Bob’s head, warming his face with a wet cloth. Bob continued to shiver silently for several minutes while Harry ran fresh hot water into the tub whenever it began to cool. Eventually, Bob leaned his head against the back of the tub, closed his eyes, and gave a shaky sigh.
“Harry,” he whispered, his voice faint, reaching out blindly. When his hand connected with Harry’s, he squeezed it tightly. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me yet.”
“I have no intention of leaving you, now or ever,” Harry assured him, his voice rough with emotion, “although you’ve pretty much scared the crap out of me this afternoon.”
“Me, too,” Bob admitted. “I don’t feel well at all, Harry.” It came out as close to a whimper as Harry had ever heard from Bob, and frightened him all over again.
“I can’t imagine why,” he groaned, kissing Bob’s forehead softly. “I’m sorry. We’ll have you in a warm bed soon. Emma and I. She won’t leave you, Bob,” Harry told him. Bob smiled.
“Still playing nursemaid,” he whispered. Harry wondered for a second if Bob meant him or the dog, but then he remembered something Bob had told him months ago about his childhood, and a puzzle piece fell into place.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “it looks like she is.”
He picked up the washcloth and soaped it, wiping it gently over Bob’s back and shoulders and down his arms, working at loosening fingers that were still half clenched in remembered agony. He bathed Bob as tenderly as if he was the child Robin, and Bob was happy to let him, soaking up the love.
It made Harry want to cry when he imagined Bob existing all those centuries without any physical comfort at all - his entire life, really, except for the time he had with Gervase. This time, Harry needed no prompting from Bob to send up a prayer on Gervase’s behalf, hoping he would at last know that Hrothbert was loved again, and taken care of.
Pouring shampoo into his palm, Harry worked up a good lather and massaged it slowly and gently into Bob’s hair, his fingertips soothing the white head.
“I’m going...to remember this,” Bob rasped. “Dear Harry.” His head fell forward against Harry, who kept on for another few minutes, until the water was obviously cooling, before he grabbed a cup from the basin and poured the water over Bob’s head several times until the shampoo was gone.
“Can you stand up?” Harry asked, pulling the plug.
“I think so...if you help me,” Bob asked. “I feel very odd...and weak. It’s as if...something is pulling me back...there. And I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go back, Harry. Help me,” he pleaded.
Harry shivered as a feeling of dread crept over him. He didn’t know if it was Bob’s feeling or his own, but it was nasty.
“I’ll do anything for you,” he soothed. “You’re not going back if I can help it - and if you do I’m going with you,” Harry vowed, “because I’m never leaving you. I’m never leaving you, Bob,” he repeated, stroking the damp head pressed against his chest. He would say it as many times as Bob needed to hear it.
“Harry.”
He’d never heard his name uttered like a prayer before. It was humbling...terrifying. Empowering.
“Up we go,” he coaxed, supporting Bob as he stood shakily.
Once out of the tub, Bob sat on the commode as Harry enveloped him in towels from head to toe, rubbing briskly.
“Better?” Harry asked after a minute.
“Mmmmmm.” Bob nodded, still leaning against Harry, more in pleasure now than in need.
“Take these, they’ll make you feel better,” Harry urged, offering aspirin and holding out a glass of water. Bob swallowed obediently.
“I’ll be right back,” Harry told him. He opened the door into the room and saw that everything he’d asked for had been brought. He turned down the covers and stuck the hot water bottles in. Then he went back for Bob and walked him to the bed, tucking him in snugly.
“Try to sleep,” Harry coaxed. “I’ll be right here beside you, and so will Emma,” he smiled. The dog had not waited to be invited, but was already snuggled against Bob’s thigh on the far side of the bed.
“Promise?” Bob croaked faintly, lifting his arm from beneath the covers to grasp Harry’s wrist.
“Promise,” Harry returned. He quickly stepped out of his pants and socks, and slid under the covers, mummifying the two of them under the thick duvet. Bob curled up tight against him, as if he were trying to lose himself in Harry’s arms. After many minutes of being gently stroked and rocked and shushed the tension finally left his body, and he lay heavy against Harry, sinking into sleep.
pinkdoom
Hugs, kisses and boxes of chocolates to Her Highness ;-)
Author’s Note: Bob has a very bad day indeed, followed by puh-lenty of comfort. I didn't want to split this up, but for some reason LJ isn't liking the length, so I've had to. Sorry!
One Two Three Four Five
After showering and having an early lunch, at Bob’s request they drove into Richmond. Using the cathedral and castle ruins as well as the two remaining ancient city walls as guides, Bob thought he’d found Master Bartholomew’s house. It was, disappointingly, in the middle of what was now a car park. Fanning out from what had been the old marketplace, he pointed out various sites to Harry, accompanied by anecdotes both serious and amusing. Harry noted that the nearer they came to the castle, the more jumpy and ill-at-ease Bob became, and the same with the historical marker indicating the spot where the medieval stocks used to stand in the marketplace. Clearly, not all of his memories of the town were so fond.
Harry suggested they drive back to Bainbridge, where Bob could meet Tessa if the shop was open - which it was. Emma was in what they would come to realize was her usual place just inside the entrance. She snuffled and yodeled softly in greeting to Harry, who cheerfully fussed over her. Bob, she seemed to quietly take in her stride, with much less ado - yet it was Bob she followed around the shop, and onto whose feet she dropped when they stayed to chat with Tessa.
Harry wasn’t sure if Bob was purposely intent on charming her, but if he wasn’t, it was working anyway - and it looked like vice versa as far as he could tell. The three of them were soon chatting away like old friends, something Harry had seen Bob do with very few people. They learned that Tessa been living in London, studying voice and drama, hoping for a singing career. But money had been in short supply, and she’d apparently had a relationship go sour as well, so when her uncle had needed her, she had come home. She wasn’t sure what she’d do, she told them, as her financial situation didn’t look as if it would ever get any brighter even if she sold the business, and she just didn’t have the heart to go back to London now, with her unhappy memories of a failed relationship.
The talk eventually turned to the last Lord of Bainbridge. Bob thanked Tessa profusely for the writing case, assuring her he would treasure it always. She asked if they had been to the hill above town, where the manor had once stood, not far from the Roman ruins. Not yet, but they would go tomorrow, Bob told her, surprising Harry in his firmness. It was something he’d always known he’d have to do when he got to the village, he continued. Harry got the feeling he was not looking forward to it.
Would they do her a favor, Tessa wondered, appealing to Harry, who had already demonstrated his fondness. Could they take Emma with them, for a good outing? She rarely got enough exercise, and it would do her a lot of good. Harry looked as if he would have said yes straightaway, but he deferred to Mr. Bainbridge...Robert, as he asked her to call him. He smiled, leaned down to pet Emma quietly, and said of course.
It was strange, Tessa mused as she watched Harry and Robert walk back up the high street, how clownishly enthusiastic the still-puppyish Emma was with Harry, whereas with Robert, she behaved as she had with Uncle Ted, who had been her ‘dad’. Well, he was older, and quieter than Harry. She liked his eyes. Odd, the sorts of vibes animals picked up from people. She wasn’t worried, though - Emma obviously adored both of them, and she trusted Emma’s instincts as well as her own. She sensed they were going through some sort of trouble, the same as she was, and they were good people, she was sure of it.
“So...what did you think of her?” Harry asked as they drank hot buttered rum, carried up from the bar, in front of the fire.
“Miss Mortimer, or Emma?” Bob asked drolly. “I noticed you were quite taken with the latter.” Harry rolled his eyes.
“Funny man.” He shook his head fondly.
“A sweet girl. You were right, Harry - no guile there, just a good, gentle soul.”
“So...she doesn’t remind you of...Winifride?” Harry asked. He’d known all along what Bob had feared from the moment he’d brought him the box.
“No. The color of her eyes is wrong, and her features - no, nothing about her reminds me of Winifride, believe me - least of all her heart,” Bob frowned, thoughtful, “for I don’t believe Winifride had one.”
“But she does remind you of someone else,” Harry gently prompted, tucking that last bit of information away for the future.
“Oh, yes. Not physically so much, except for her hair, perhaps.” Bob smiled. “But as far as the kind of person she is - yes, she’s much like another Mortimer,” he admitted, giving the name the French accent he had the other night.
“Is that why you felt so comfortable with her?”
Bob shrugged. “I suppose it must be.”
“Bob?” Harry asked quietly. “I’ve been very patient. The name, at least, of my rival?”
Bob turned to look at him, his expression unreadable for a moment.
“Gervase,” he answered softly, “and he has not been your rival for quite some time, my love.”
“But you loved him.”
“Yes, I did. At the time, I loved him more than I had ever cared for anything or anyone,” Bob admitted softly. “He understood me. He valued me for myself, as few have done. He wanted nothing from me but the love I bore him. I felt happy when I was with him - or what passed for happiness in my life then. Throughout the centuries of my imprisonment, and since I have known you, I have come to understand love, and happiness, in a way I could not have, then.” He smiled at Harry.
“One of the things I wanted to do in coming here is to honor my memory of him and his love for me. His loyalty cost him his life, sweet boy that he was. No cunning or dishonor in him, unlike the rest of his family.” The Hrothbert bitterness was strong in his voice. “But of course, I suppose I deserved what I got, speaking of cunning and dishonor,” he sighed, “even if Gervase did not.”
“Honor him with me, Harry. If it hadn’t been for my first love, I would not have been open to my brightest, strongest love,” Bob explained, “my Forever Love. Loving him made it possible for me to love you.”
Harry swallowed a lump in his throat. “To Gervase,” he toasted, raising his glass towards Bob. “May he rest in peace, and know that you loved him.”
Tears welled in Bob’s eyes as he raised his glass in return. “Thank you, Harry.”
He fell silent then, and though they talked of other things that night, Bob didn’t mention his long-ago lover again. Harry, reassured that the specter of Gervase wasn’t going to haunt them, let Bob grieve in private.
@@@
The next morning, true to his announced intention, Bob was up early. The weather was only slightly drier that it had been the day before, and just as cold.
“Are you sure you really want to do this?” Harry asked, helping to load the boot. Bob looked up towards the hill and then at Harry.
“It’s not something I ‘want’ to do, Harry, but since it’s the reason we came here, it must be done. Otherwise, all your efforts would be for naught,” Bob reminded him. “Wallowing in the bosom of the village, pulling out the few fond memories I have in order to bolster myself with them... No. I must accept it all,” Bob sighed, getting in the car. “But I’m very glad you’re with me,” he confessed, giving Harry’s hand a squeeze as he started the car. From the back seat, Emma added her support with a soft ‘woof’.
Harry had a bad feeling, but he knew Bob was right, as Morgan had known. As much pain as there might be to come, it had to be, or Bob would never heal.
He found that for reasons he couldn’t entirely explain to himself, he was glad to have Emma along. She was a sweet dog, and since she’d first seen Bob she’d clung to him like glue whenever he was in her sight. It was a little strange, in a Twilight Zone kind of way, but cool, too.
Following Bob’s directions and the map, they drove all over the dales for most of the day, pausing here and there for Bob to get out, walk a bit, and remember. Harry respected his privacy and mostly stayed in the car. Emma, however, went with him, and he seemed to take comfort in her presence.
Harry noticed after a while that they hadn’t yet come near the area Tessa had indicated was the site of the old manor of Bainbridge - the place Bob acknowledged he had to go. Harry supposed he was working up his courage.
They drove over a considerable amount of the countryside, beautiful but rather bleak at this time of year, before Bob told Harry to swing back towards the village. He asked Harry to stop on the road just below the hill.
“I should do this alone,” Bob sighed, “although apparently I can’t go anywhere without Emma,” he smiled, scratching her behind the ears. “She’ll see I come to no harm.”
“Bob - ” Harry hesitated. “I don’t think I like this.”
“I know, love. No more do I. But it has to happen,” Bob insisted. Before he got out of the car, he leaned over and gave Harry a soft kiss.
Harry kissed him back, hugging tight for a moment before letting him go. The door slammed, and Bob and Emma were gone. It was eerily quiet for a city boy. The only sound was the cold wind whipping around the car, and the faint ticking of Harry’s Timex, the only watch he didn’t consistently fry.
Trying not to check the time, Harry leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, hoping against hope that Bob would be back in a few minutes, none the worse for wear. Yeahright.
He’d been surprised, going back to the night of Bob’s attack on him, how fragile he was when it came to his past life and his sentence. He felt a lot of guilt and pain over what he’d done, and the things that had happened to others because of him, and Harry didn’t believe it was only because Bob didn’t want him to know. That’s what Bob wanted him to think; Hrothbert of Bainbridge, the great and powerful wizard, couldn’t actually admit that he’d screwed up, even to himself. That’s what this trip was really about - Bob coming to terms with his mistakes and their consequences.
Harry was used to screwing up and being told in no uncertain terms that he had, and he was used to accepting the consequences, too. He’d always pretty much had a ‘what the hell, might as well go for it’ attitude towards life that Bob clearly didn’t. Poor Bob, this homecoming was going to be really tough on him.
The wind had picked up and it was misting again, heavily. It was cold, even inside the car. Harry fidgeted, and finally looked at his watch. Not quite half an hour had passed, but he was still uneasy. He jumped, almost hitting his head on the roof of the car, when Emma appeared at the window beside him, pawing at the door and whimpering. Shit.
Harry got out of the car and followed her without thinking. Whatever was between Bob and Emma, he believed in it. Lassie for real.
Bob stood just a few hundred yards above the road, near the bottom of the gently sloping hill. As Harry approached, he swayed and fell to his knees.
“Bob!” Harry knelt beside him. His eyes were wild and unseeing, far away. At first, he didn’t react to Harry’s presence. He shuddered, his body in the grip of some giant tetanic convulsion. He turned his head away and vomited, spasm after spasm shaking him like a rag doll. Harry moved behind him for support, one arm going around his chest and the other on the back of his neck.
Bob alternately cried out in anguish or murmured broken phrases in what Harry supposed must be an older version of English, because he was almost able to pick out individual words, even though they didn’t make sense as he had no context. The torment continued for so long that Harry began to wonder if Bob’s physical body could take it.
Finally there was no more to come up and Bob only retched, his body still captive to its compulsion. Holding him, Harry experienced his feelings of deep, heart-felt pain. Waves of misery emanated from him that Harry felt acutely. When Bob had told him about his life, especially his birth and childhood, he’d been pretty dispassionate and fairly controlled, considering what he was relating. All that pain was here, now, smashing through Bob like a tornado passing over a sapling. He was close to being borne away, Harry his only root.
As the spasms began to lessen, Harry pulled Bob back gently to rest against his chest, wrapping his arms around him, rocking.
“Shhhh, shhhhh,” he soothed, “I’ve got you. It’s okay, Bob,” he murmured into Bob’s icy ear. Gradually, he moved the two of them a few feet away, cradling Bob securely between his legs. Emma came to lie against them, and Harry was as glad of the warm animal comfort as Bob was.
Harry noticed that both Bob’s hands were clawed shut over handfuls of dirt. He opened them carefully, letting the dirt fall on the ground beside him. He had an odd visual flash as he did so, a sort of QuickTime clip of a crowd of people yelling, a feeling of sheer terror, and a man being...beheaded. Ohgod.
“Bob?” Harry asked very gently against his ear, “are you here? Is this where - ? ”
Bob didn’t answer, but his body jerked in Harry’s arms.
“Oh shit,” Harry sighed, pulling Bob tight against him, pressing his lips against hair, neck, earlobe, shoulder - anywhere he could reach. “I wish there was something I could do.” Bob leaned back into his embrace, trembling.
“You already are,” he murmured. “As much as anyone can.”
“It’s freezing, Bob. Let’s go back to the car, and go get warm and dry,” Harry coaxed.
“I have done so many things I’m ashamed of, Harry,” Bob rasped against his neck. “Evil, vile things. Just because I could do them, and for no other reason. Because I loved power, and enjoyed taking revenge on those whom I thought wronged me in some way. I am evil.”
“Can we talk about this in the car?” Harry asked quietly.
“So I will be comfortable? No, Harry,” he grated. “No. What better place than here, where I met my fitting end.”
Harry had expected as much. He hunkered down against the cold mist and tried to shield Bob from the weather as much as he could.
“After I inherited the manor, I began to work constantly on increasing my powers. I wanted to know all there was to know about the Black, and I had always been a good student, after all. If someone crossed me in business, unfortunate things happened - to their land, or their property. Even to their family. Sometimes, they died, after a painful illness. I am a murderer, many times over,” Bob ground out against Harry’s chest, his voice low and full of pain. “The veiled threats that some on the council make, I acted upon.”
“If someone insulted me, or spoke out in a manner I did not like, they were punished for it, one way or another. People began to talk. There was nothing they could put their finger on at first, but it was observed that if Hrothbert of Bainbridge favored someone, good things came their way in life - and if you angered the Lord of Bainbridge, you could be very unlucky indeed. I was feared and respected, as I had longed to be, but I was not what you would call happy, or even content,” Bob admitted, “because I had no wife, no heir - no one to share my life with.”
“The years passed, though they passed slowly for me, as I had by then learned the secret to slowing my body’s aging. People believed I was my own son and eventually grandson, because I willed them to believe it. I was so arrogant I never thought the Church would take notice, let alone act. I truly believed my enemies were powerless against me, more fool I!” Bob shook his head. “Something Merlin and I had in common, Harry - not seeing an enemy who stood before me, and not seeing or respecting my enemy’s abilities, because that enemy was a woman.” He shifted, resting his head under Harry’s jaw.
“Sir Guillaume Mortimer had been given an estate a few miles from my own, for service to the king. Although such things were not so much an issue as they had been a century or two earlier, the Mortimers intrigued the neighborhood, I guess you would say, because Sir Guillaume hailed from pure Norman stock, while the lady of the manor was from an old Saxon family,” Bob explained. “A union of money and power. Their children were further evidence of this dichotomy - the eldest daughter’s name was Winifride; her brother was Gervase. Only three of their children grew to adulthood - Winifride, Gervase, and the youngest, a girl called Aline. I suppose Tessa must be descended from her.
“Winifride was comely enough and intelligent enough that I schemed to make her my wife. When I learned secretly that she was also a student of the Black...well, that settled the matter for me, if not for her. She had no interest in marrying me at first - after all, I was some years older than she, to say the least. It was only when she learned about my interests, and my power, that she began to reconsider, and eventually agreed to marry me. I should have known!” Bob cried. “Somehow, I should have known. How could I not see it? I was cleverer than anyone else, was I not? Fool!” he wailed, clutching at Harry’s anorak.
Harry was trapped. He knew he couldn’t stop this dialogue; didn’t want to stop it, if it would help Bob. But it was freezing, and they were both soaking wet and shivering with the cold. Even Emma looked miserable. Harry wished he had a choice, but he didn’t see one; let Bob talk, or hustle him back to the hotel and perhaps never have this out.
“Men have always been fools, Bob, and not just for love,” was all he could think of to say. “You’re not immune.”
“I didn’t meet Gervase until my wedding day. He was learning to manage his mother’s estates in the south, but he came for the wedding. Not,” Bob sighed, “that Winifride was glad of it. I saw that they did not get on, but I didn’t understand the depth of their animosity; the hatred on Winifride’s part, until much later.
“Neither of them were what I expected.” He shook his head. “I had not looked for love in a wife - few did, then - but rather than being a pliable young woman who would be decoration on my arm and the dutiful mother of my children, Winifride became my nemesis in magic as well as in my bed. Why,” Bob groaned, “when I knew she was a student of the Black Arts, did I expect her to be a biddable wife? She wed me only for what I could teach her, she cared nothing for me. I had met my match in treachery,” he admitted.
“But Gervase - Gervase was her mirror image. He wanted nothing from me but myself.” Bob smiled slightly in remembrance. “He got past all my defenses with ridiculous ease, simply by not trying to get past them. By not recognizing that I even had any, bless him. He gave me the only happiness I’d had in my life - until, that is, a scruffy eleven-year-old was given into my charge - or perhaps I was given into his,” Bob sighed, leaning in to soak up Harry’s warmth. “But then, Harry - then, he was everything to me.”
“Our life together - Winifride, Gervase, and me - lasted several years before it all came crashing down, thanks to Winifride’s ambition and jealousy. There were never any children. I learned later that she had quickened twice with my seed, and had contrived to divest herself of the annoyance both times,” Bob relayed sadly.
“As my joy in Gervase continued to grow, so did her anger and jealousy towards him, and her recklessness when it came to the Black. She dared me, taunted me, until we became quite careless and both Church and Crown came to notice. Old enemies bided their time, waiting until one or the other of us made a move upon which they could pounce. Gervase and I, lost in ourselves, didn’t see the danger; well, he never did, and I only when the wheels of destiny were already in motion.”
Bob hesitated. It seemed as if he would speak, but he remained silent. He began to shiver uncontrollably, clinging to Harry like a drowning man. When Harry saw his face, he gasped; Bob’s skin was gray, his lips blue with cold.
“That’s enough,” Harry told him, “we’re going back to the hotel now, before we both catch our deaths.” He wasn’t worried about himself, but Bob was starting to scare the hell out of him.
“Yes Harry,” Bob whispered faintly against his neck, completely spent.
Struggling, Harry stood and brought Bob up with him. They scrambled down the hill, with Bob leaning heavily against him; once they reached the road Harry picked Bob up in his arms and carried him the rest of the way to the car.
Harry tugged a blanket snugly around Bob and a large towel around Emma, who was so wet her ears were dripping. He started the engine and turned the heater on full blast. Bob looked like shit. Harry’s hands and feet were numb with cold as he drove back down into the village, praying.
Harry rarely prayed while growing up, and after he went to live with Justin, not at all. It wasn’t that he disbelieved, exactly, but he’d never had the slightest sign that God was aware of his existence, so there didn’t seem to be much point. Now, however, he knew, as Bob knew, that they had been brought together for a reason by powers much stronger than themselves - and maybe it was time to say thank you, along with begging for Bob’s life.
Please God, I can’t lose him now. Please, don’t do that to us. You heard how sorry he is. I know you heard him. Please just let us have each other and we’ll never ask for anything else, pleaseplease.....
How he got Bob upstairs without both of them collapsing or making a scene in the lobby, Harry never knew. Emma trotted right behind them, and would not be put off. In a blur, he called the desk and explained to the manager that Mr. Bainbridge had gotten a good soaking and was feeling ill. He asked for fresh towels and some hot water bottles to be sent up, followed by a bottle of brandy and dinner.
He explained about Emma, and asked that someone take her back to Tessa. The manager hesitated, then told him that Tessa was away for a few hours, but that if they didn’t mind Emma could stay with them, or in the lobby if they preferred. As in many hotels in Britain, dogs were welcome in the rooms. Harry looked over at Emma, huddled on the bed close to Bob. He asked the manager for something for Emma’s dinner. No difficulty at all, sir. Everything is in motion, rest assured.
Putting the phone down, Harry fought a rising panic. He fumbled at starting a fire, barely taking the time to see that it caught. He put a towel down on the floor in front of the fireplace for Emma. For the first time since they’d arrived days ago, he turned on the hot water tap in the deep porcelain tub, ignoring the shower. While the water ran, he scrambled to collect what he thought he’d need. When the tub was full, he returned to Bob, whom he’d left bundled in a blanket on the bed. It had been less than fifteen minutes since they’d entered the room, but it felt like a century.
Bob’s general color was still bad and chills shook his body; tiny fever spots already burned in his cheeks. Harry stripped off his soaking wet clothes, dropping them in a soggy pile. He kicked off his own shoes and his wet sweater.
“I’ve got a hot bath ready,” he told Bob, lifting him around the waist. He was almost but not quite a dead weight, shuffling clumsily as Harry maneuvered them into the bathroom, and Bob into the tub. Bob winced at the temperature of the water as his skin began to turn pink; Harry knew it wasn’t hot enough to burn him. Bob’s breathing was harsh and interspersed with wheezes.
“Relax,” Harry encouraged. He squeezed water over Bob’s head, warming his face with a wet cloth. Bob continued to shiver silently for several minutes while Harry ran fresh hot water into the tub whenever it began to cool. Eventually, Bob leaned his head against the back of the tub, closed his eyes, and gave a shaky sigh.
“Harry,” he whispered, his voice faint, reaching out blindly. When his hand connected with Harry’s, he squeezed it tightly. “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me yet.”
“I have no intention of leaving you, now or ever,” Harry assured him, his voice rough with emotion, “although you’ve pretty much scared the crap out of me this afternoon.”
“Me, too,” Bob admitted. “I don’t feel well at all, Harry.” It came out as close to a whimper as Harry had ever heard from Bob, and frightened him all over again.
“I can’t imagine why,” he groaned, kissing Bob’s forehead softly. “I’m sorry. We’ll have you in a warm bed soon. Emma and I. She won’t leave you, Bob,” Harry told him. Bob smiled.
“Still playing nursemaid,” he whispered. Harry wondered for a second if Bob meant him or the dog, but then he remembered something Bob had told him months ago about his childhood, and a puzzle piece fell into place.
“Yeah,” he agreed, “it looks like she is.”
He picked up the washcloth and soaped it, wiping it gently over Bob’s back and shoulders and down his arms, working at loosening fingers that were still half clenched in remembered agony. He bathed Bob as tenderly as if he was the child Robin, and Bob was happy to let him, soaking up the love.
It made Harry want to cry when he imagined Bob existing all those centuries without any physical comfort at all - his entire life, really, except for the time he had with Gervase. This time, Harry needed no prompting from Bob to send up a prayer on Gervase’s behalf, hoping he would at last know that Hrothbert was loved again, and taken care of.
Pouring shampoo into his palm, Harry worked up a good lather and massaged it slowly and gently into Bob’s hair, his fingertips soothing the white head.
“I’m going...to remember this,” Bob rasped. “Dear Harry.” His head fell forward against Harry, who kept on for another few minutes, until the water was obviously cooling, before he grabbed a cup from the basin and poured the water over Bob’s head several times until the shampoo was gone.
“Can you stand up?” Harry asked, pulling the plug.
“I think so...if you help me,” Bob asked. “I feel very odd...and weak. It’s as if...something is pulling me back...there. And I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go back, Harry. Help me,” he pleaded.
Harry shivered as a feeling of dread crept over him. He didn’t know if it was Bob’s feeling or his own, but it was nasty.
“I’ll do anything for you,” he soothed. “You’re not going back if I can help it - and if you do I’m going with you,” Harry vowed, “because I’m never leaving you. I’m never leaving you, Bob,” he repeated, stroking the damp head pressed against his chest. He would say it as many times as Bob needed to hear it.
“Harry.”
He’d never heard his name uttered like a prayer before. It was humbling...terrifying. Empowering.
“Up we go,” he coaxed, supporting Bob as he stood shakily.
Once out of the tub, Bob sat on the commode as Harry enveloped him in towels from head to toe, rubbing briskly.
“Better?” Harry asked after a minute.
“Mmmmmm.” Bob nodded, still leaning against Harry, more in pleasure now than in need.
“Take these, they’ll make you feel better,” Harry urged, offering aspirin and holding out a glass of water. Bob swallowed obediently.
“I’ll be right back,” Harry told him. He opened the door into the room and saw that everything he’d asked for had been brought. He turned down the covers and stuck the hot water bottles in. Then he went back for Bob and walked him to the bed, tucking him in snugly.
“Try to sleep,” Harry coaxed. “I’ll be right here beside you, and so will Emma,” he smiled. The dog had not waited to be invited, but was already snuggled against Bob’s thigh on the far side of the bed.
“Promise?” Bob croaked faintly, lifting his arm from beneath the covers to grasp Harry’s wrist.
“Promise,” Harry returned. He quickly stepped out of his pants and socks, and slid under the covers, mummifying the two of them under the thick duvet. Bob curled up tight against him, as if he were trying to lose himself in Harry’s arms. After many minutes of being gently stroked and rocked and shushed the tension finally left his body, and he lay heavy against Harry, sinking into sleep.