Dead & Damned Part V
I meant to get a lot more accomplished in this chapter, but it got really long so I decided to break it up.
I owe so much to Pandonkey and PhoenixKnght86 for betaing. THANK YOU! I'll make you something pretty. Oh, and just a note: the last line from Bob was the genius of PhoenixKnght86 who is my RL friend and fellow Dresden obsessie. She ships for Harry/Murphy, but I don't hold that against her - 'specially since we discuss Dead&Damned together over meals. Hee hee. Originally, the chapter ended in a cuddle, but she happened to make a comment that was a little too perfect and I changed the ending. If you'd wanted a cuddle - blame her.
Previous chapters: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV
Chapter 5
TV!Bob POV
NC-17 Now, now, don't get too excited by the rating. There is smut, but it's hetero. Yeah, light Winefride and Bob smut - it feeds in later to some uh... interesting stuff between Harry and Bob. Little bits of violence, and prolly some language.
Disclaimer: Oh right, I don't own any of it. Tell that to my plot bunnies. What? You can't see them...? They're pink and ravenously chewing on my brain.
Summary: Aftermath of Big Major Plotness. Very Bob-centric.
There's something seriously wrong with you if your brain doesn't melt into a big pile of 'awww' within the first couple of paragraphs... Hell, the whole thing's kind of one long 'awww' - save for some violence and smut that I had to throw in there for my own sanity.
Music: AC/DC "Thunderstruck"
I so want to make a DF music video to this song!
V
In the world of those freshly given an existence, there were only two things: feverish heat and blinding pain. Beyond those immediate sensations was little else. I was enormously aware of my breathing - the intake of breath was a heavy chore. The pain had overwrought my senses and there were moments where I feared it would never leave me. At length, I became aware of other things - like the rock that was pressing into my lower back. The ground was cold and damp, but it was a relief against the burning sensation that still lingered throughout my body.
And then there was a voice, rough and full of concern and mingled wonderment:
“You O.K., Bob?”
Harry. Cool fingers skimmed my forehead. I peered up at him through heavy lids.
“C’mon. I need to get you home” the two Harrys I was seeing said in unison. “Can you move at all?”
If I answered him or not, I do not know. I had meant to, but whether the thought actually made its way past my lips is beyond my recollection. I must’ve slipped from consciousness, but when I returned, I was certain of one thing:
Mai was a vindictive bitch.
The experience of restoration was extremely … unpleasant, but that alone did not warrant the adjective vindictive. With the pain receding to the perimeters of my consciousness, I was aware of the forbidden calling that permeated even the air I drew shakily into my lungs. Her charge to Harry should I transgress burned brightly in my mind.
Inside, I could slowly feel the rebirth of my magic reverberate like a song inside my body - a balm against the pain. Outside, I could feel a dark and terrible power touching me with a lover’s kind of certainty. It was as though it knew how badly I craved its strength, how much I longed to feel its harsh reign over me. Ah, to make love to something dark and beautiful.
Mai would have known. She could have restored me anywhere, but she chose this place with the intent of testing my will. How quickly would I succumb? In my weakened state, the sheer power being offered by the Black was a succubus to my senses.
My first task was a matter of choice: I could give in. I could resume my treacherous past, revel in the dark glory. Or I could walk away as I was, a mere feeble servant to those who loathe me.
Yet I opened my eyes and saw another perspective altogether: I could go with Harry.
“Home,” I breathed.
In my oblivion, he’d rearranged me so that I rested partially against him. I was leaned in against his chest, my head curled into his shoulder and neck, his arms supporting me as I sat between his legs. He’d been waiting patiently, but he now seemed eager to be moving on.
“Bob? You awake now?” I’m sure his tone was meant to be biting in sarcasm, but he sounded far too concerned to pull it off.
“Yes. Home,” I repeated. “Take me home.”
Perhaps he caught the urgency in my voice, because he started to move immediately. I managed to support myself with his help and together we stood. Standing however, caused a slow rush of vertigo and Harry was forced to hold me against him to keep me upright. We waited until I regained a similitude of equilibrium, but I’m sure that to any onlookers I must have seemed like some poor drunken sod.
We made our way to Harry’s vehicle in silence. I crawled into the passenger seat awkwardly - the first of many novel experiences I was to have, I was sure. I was dimly aware of Harry leaning over me and fastening a strap across my chest and lap. There was an audible click, and then I passed from wakefulness again.
There was a shudder as the engine shut off and a slight jingle as the keys were removed. I remained with my eyes closed; I was enjoying the cool serenity of the night and was far too content to open them. A delicate touch of fingertips came to my neck and traced downward. The unknown meaning of his caress startled me until his fingers came to rest at my pulse. He pressed there for moments, and I wondered if he had noticed my accelerated heartbeat or was merely reassuring himself of its presence.
I decided that I should no longer feign sleep so I languidly opened my eyes and inhaled deeply. I let the enormous breath out as a yawn, stretching my lungs and limbs together.
“We’re home,” he announced softly.
“Mn.” I commented, my vocabulary apparently still sleep addled.
He smiled and unfastened himself from his seat. I attempted to do the same, but I couldn’t quite figure out the contraption in the dark. I glanced up at Harry, who was watching me with an amused grin.
“Here,” He leaned over, turned the buckle as far as it would allow, and pointed to a small, indented square. “You press this.” He did so, and the metal clasp-like thing was released. His grin widened when he saw that I had missed the simplicity of it.
“Can you manage the door?”
Cheeky. I might add that I figured out door entirely on my own, thank you.
He stood waiting for me by the apartment, my skull tucked under his arm. He unlocked the door as I approached, and he held it open for me. I arched an eyebrow, caught by his unexpected display of courtesy.
“Go ahead.”
I entered, aware of the passive inspection of the wards, but beyond that I felt an inexplicable surge of emotion: Home. I hadn’t been home in so long.
Locking up behind me, he asked, “Can I get you anything?” I was hardly a guest, yet he was treating me with the airs of a perfect stranger.
“Harry,” I intoned and by his slightly abashed expression, I knew I needed to say no more.
“Sorry,” he apologized hastily. “It’s just, well…” He gestured emphatically at my new form, “You know.” He paused, running a weary, if not nervous, hand through his hair, making it stand up in odd directions. “You like tea?”
“Harry, really.” I did my best to sound put upon. “I am an Englishman.”
He laughed, and whatever tension he had was carried off by the sound. He went for the lights in the small kitchen and switched them on - they flickered briefly before dying altogether. We stared at each other in the low light that the ever-burning candles provided. “Two wizards living in the same space and I’m expecting the electricity to work.” He muttered sardonically. We shared a knowing smile.
Tea was wonderful, warm and light in flavor. My memory could not provide me with a comparison to what I had drunk in my former life, but it was a nostalgic experience nonetheless. My hands trembled as I brought the cup to my lips each time. I was glad Harry had decided to busy himself elsewhere, because I was unable to hold back my silent tears of elation.
As much as Mai vexed me, I couldn’t help but feel gratitude toward her. No matter the reason, I was as close to being alive as I could come. My skull seemed to draw my eyes like a magnet, and I stared into my own empty sockets, remembering the pain of my transformation from spirit to flesh. I rubbed at my wrists gingerly; I still felt the grasp of the manacles that bound my soul - and now my body.
Harry’s footfalls sounded not far off and I wiped away any residual wetness from my cheeks and trained my attention on the last of my tea.
“I’ve got the sofa pulled out.” I took in his appearance briefly before meeting his eyes. He had changed into his own night attire that consisted of a grey cotton top and red-and-blue-tartan shorts. His hair was damp and his face was pink from a fresh scrubbing; I could smell cinnamon faintly on his breath. Under one arm was tucked a bundle of clothing that was presumably meant for me.
He smirked. “You know, I’ve never used that thing until now?” he said, his head jerking over his shoulder in the direction of the living room and the pullout sofa. “Never had a reason to…”
Because they always end up in your bed, I silently finished for him.
He searched my face, seeming to know that I’d caught the unintended implication, “I figured you’d be more comfortable sleeping, you know… Anyway, here’s some clothes you can use.” He placed them on the counter next to my skull. “I still have some pants that are a little short on me, so these should fit you just fine.”
“Thank you.” I distracted myself by inspecting the worn navy blue cotton pants and white shirt. The clothes were Harry’s, and he was giving them to me for my comfort; for those reasons I did not mind having to wear them. At least for the night.
“How are you?” he asked, and I felt the proverbial noose of awkward tension hanging just over my head.
“Overwhelmed.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, his tone conveying that he felt much the same as I. There was a long pause, and then: “Let’s try to get some sleep, huh? We’ve got a lot to do in a short time.”
Silence. I nodded, feeling the noose come around my neck.
His gaze traced over my face and his expression broke from its superficial calm into soft concern. I might not have hid my weeping as well as I thought, but he mentioned nothing of it.
“I’m glad you’re here … like this.”
“As am I.” I raised the cup to my lips and then realized that I’d already emptied it. I set it back down.
“Do you want some more?” Harry asked quickly.
“No, that’s fine,” I said, my tone excessively reassuring. It has been a nervous action, and Harry no doubt saw that clearly.
We fell back into an awkward silence. The noose slipped a little tighter around my throat. I meant to say something heartening, possibly even profound, but all I managed was a simple, soft-spoken phrase.
“Good night.”
Harry smiled, swallowing whatever he had been debating on saying. “Good night, Bob.”
I wish to say that my first night of rest had been a peaceful, dreamless sleep, but that night I was filled with memories I had thought long lost to my mortal conscious.
Winefride.
Moonlight. The cool crispness of summer fading to fall. The smell of the earth wilting and of her hair.
It was one of those nights where we played like children in the gardens and vast forestland that surrounded our manor. I’d finally caught her, and she laughed breathlessly as I pulled her firmly to me. She’d rested her head of golden-red curls against the hollow of my neck - she was nearly as tall as I. Her lengthy legs made her difficult to catch. We stood panting together, our shared exhilaration only swelling.
Our undergarments were loose and light - hardly fitting for the chill of the evening or any onlooker’s gaze. Though any onlooker would be more than offended should he or she remain to watch this night’s sport.
Her arms twined ‘round my neck, her head tilting back to gaze deeply into my heart with her honey-hued eyes. My craving for her doubled with that full gaze upon me. I dropped my eyes to her heaving breast, her thin linen shift exposing her firm nipples. I pressed my lips to her ear in the way that she favored and smoothed my palms over the sensitive tips.
Our love was passionate in expression - an excess of sin in the eyes of the Church.
It wasn’t long before our clothes were a makeshift bed on the soft earth. Ah, she was fair by moonlight. As beautiful and delicate featured as she was, she could have been mistaken for a Fae were it not for the light dusting of hair on her arms and legs that proved her humanity. I was kneeling between her spread thighs, my hands leaving a trail of heat from her breasts to her damp curls below. I lowered my mouth to taste her -
“Hrothbert.” Her voice was a plea, though when I met her eyes I felt the weight of her command seize me and hold me still.
My Winefride.
As Fae-like as she appeared, she was also as ferociously spirited. Many a fool who underestimated her found himself at her mercy.
Only once was I such a fool, and now I was constantly at her mercy. Her every desire was mine, and only for her would I submit. Our love was born of a mutual respect for each other’s boundless passion for life, and whereas I was drawn to the Darkness she was drawn to the Light. We were an uncanny balance for one another at first - but it was her touch that broke me and would break me each time. I surrendered to her influence, putting aside the illicit call of the Black, but she had a dark streak all her own: in our chasing games, Winefride may have been the one running and I the one to catch her, but it was she who compelled me so. She allowed me my darkness then, but on her terms. I would do whatever she asked of me, and just then, she wanted me hotly inside of her.
Her deviance revealed itself solely in our lovemaking.
Hands pinned above her head, I thrust into her clenching body. My muscles burned with a sweet, taut ache. My gaze seared into the dark blaze of her eyes. I hungrily watched the pleasure come to life on her face. She was almost there.
She lifted her head, bringing her mouth to hover just below mine. Our lips brushed as heated breath passed between our mouths. She knew how I loved this torturous almost-kiss. I relinquished all control, pushing into her wanting body with abandon. She moaned into the space between our lips, her mouth barely touching mine as she climaxed. Never kissing, her teasing lips yielded my release.
I woke from my feverish sleep with a start, my passion still straining and unsatisfied. I thought for a moment to relieve myself, but there was another reason I had been brought awake. A sensation of unease loomed over me, and my unattended flesh relented.
From the loft above me I heard the creaking of bedsprings and quiet mutterings. Harry was prone to nightmares, I knew, but today’s circumstance unnerved me enough to draw myself up from bed and to the stairs, carrying my skull along with me.
“Harry?” I called his name as I climbed upwards, the stairs creaking shrilly in the silent gloom. “Harry?” I repeated louder when I could see the bed from the stairs. He choked out a morose moan and I took the last few stairs two at a time. I went to his bedside, watching as his restless body jerked every now and again. In the candlelight I could see sweat beaded on his forehead and tan bed sheets tangled all around him. His power was lashing out with the force of his dreams, blue whips streaking out now and again. Some belonging caught in a sudden surge of emotion flew past me and shattered against the wall.
A night terror.
The mark.
I shut my eyes tightly against my own idiocy. The mark had been the result of a rite meant to transfer the Dreams of The Sleeping God into the host. It was not unlikely that the residual effects of the incantation would affect those who had actually come into direct contact with the mark.
I couldn’t avoid a few moments of self-deprecation. I had been foolhardy in my desire to be useful to Harry instead of making his safety my first priority. I should never have asked him to walk across those dreadful lines.
Harry struggled to scream, his voice lost to the terrifying visions of R’lyeh. Determined to wake him, I braced myself and shouted his name. Before I could muster a resistance, I was grabbed by his Will and tossed so that I landed and nearly skidded off the bed. I had anticipated an attack, but Harry was atop me with a speed I hadn’t expected. His power fluxed dangerously around me, dark and crackling at the edges. Teeth bared and eyes laced with a shining blue fire, he clutched my throat.
Just as quickly as he had gained the upper hand, I took it from him. I was unable to speak and breath but I was not rendered helpless. My power wakened in my defense, and I brought it forth mimicking a slap to his face. He didn’t release me, but the force was enough for him to wake from the night terror’s hold. He stared at me in a stupor as his emotional surge dwindled. He blinked rapidly as if to clear his eyes of what he saw and all at once he let go. I sucked air into my burning lungs, and he held my face between his hands.
“Bob?-Bob?-Bob?” Panic-stricken, his eyes were wide and brimming with madness, his palms smoothing down the side of my face as I regained my breath. His fingers threaded wildly through my hair. “Bob? … Bob …” He crumpled in toward me then, his face against my chest, his body shaking in spasms. His hands found my shoulders and gripped then instead - hard enough to leave bruises, but I hardly felt it because Harry - Harry was…
Harry, this dear boy in my arms, was convulsing, his chest heaving as he sought to regain whatever sanity was ripped from him in those terrifying visions. I could feel the chaos ripping him open, devouring what it could of his soul, and I ran my hands down his back - fighting for him with every stroke.
When the whole-body quakes had subsided into small tremors, I spoke to him. “Harry…?”
His hands loosened their death-grip on my shoulders.
“I am so sorry, Harry.”
He raised his head slowly, his eyes not quite meeting mine. “I almost killed you,” his laugh was empty and barely audible. “Stars and stones, Bob. I … Oh gods.” He buried his head once again. “I saw, I saw…” He swallowed and I tried to hush him, but he persisted, “I saw, oh gods, I can’t - I can’t…” His voice was rising, boarding on hysterical.
“Harry,” I replied calmly - much more calmly than I was feeling - “Harry … whatever visions you have suffered-”
I wasn’t able to finish. Harry jumped up out of bed, twisting to free himself of the sheets ensnaring his feet. He was already racing down the stairs by the time I stood up.
“Harry?” I followed quickly after him, bewildered and more than a little concerned for his dramatic alteration in mood. He was at the phone, dialing furiously.
“Murphy.” He muttered, but with the intensity of his current mental state the phone flashed blue and sizzled, a small plume of smoke rising from it to signify its death. Harry picked up the phone and threw it to where collided violently with the wall. I cringed.
“Harry,” I said firmly and then continued in a much more soothing voice, “What’s the matter with Murphy?”
His eyes darted away from mine. “I just need to make sure she’s O.K.”
I nodded sympathetically. “There are ways of doing that without disturbing her in the wee hours of the morning. You are a Wizard after all. Haven’t you anything of hers?” I said, hoping to prompt his rational self.
Harry thought for a moment, his mind having to forcibly slow in order to consider thoroughly. “The couch! She slept here.”
“Might’ve left a hair or two.” I added.
He raced to the couch where I’d most recently had slept. He scoured the pillows, and then the floor for any fallen hair. The small green-chequered quilt that Murphy had used caught my eye - it sat folded neatly off to one side. I inspected it and shortly found a long, curly, dark hair.
“Harry.” I held up my find.
He stopped, letting the pillow in his hand drop absently. He wandered over to me.
“White Bryony,” I said, and he went quickly to fetch the requested plant.
When he returned he seemed much more collected but no less anxious. I took the vine-like herb from him, and he followed closely as I sought the nearest surface, which happened to be a small coffee table. I knelt to it, Harry following suit across from me. The flowers were starting to bloom, small and green; I plucked three that were huddled together and set them with Murphy’s hair on the table. I leaned low to blow gently across their surfaces; the result was a brief white glow around the hair and blooms.
“What’s…? That white - it’s good, right?” Harry asked as soon as the glow had faded.
I nodded. “Yes, Harry. Murphy is perfectly well.”
Everything about Harry relaxed at once and he flopped back, folding his legs in front of him. Then he smirked and eyed me in mock-suspicion. “You never taught me that one.”
I frowned. “Yes, well…”
“How come?”
I pursed my lips and considered what to say as the weight of memory settled on my shoulders. He seemed all the more eager for my reluctance, his eyes alight with boyish curiosity. “It was a long time ago,” I began, dredging up the memory of a former master. Harry brought his knees up to his chest, hugging them comfortably and resting his back against the foot of the sofa. For a moment I was distracted by this - his posture was one of youth, but his face was far too serious. I felt compelled to reach out and draw him closer, but I returned instead to my recollection.
“A different time, a different place; I hardly remember when and where - but I remember her. Dark hair, long - and curly, her face a porcelain oval. She wore long, simple dresses. Her favorite color was red. Miranda.
“At the time she was newly wed and pregnant; her husband was in the military - fighting a war overseas.” I laughed mirthlessly. “I suppose that sounds a little clichéd now? Like the scenario to a bad romance novel or sorts.”
Harry furrowed his brow and waved an impatient hand. “Go on.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes heavenward. “I’d no idea how I’d come into her hands - happenstance of Fate, perhaps.” I smiled tightly, knowing that there was little happenstance where Fate was involved. “She was, luckily enough for me, an adept. After some time she began to trust me,” my voice darkened, “and then I taught her that spell.
“I had thought it was a good idea at the time - she’d been ill with worry and lack of sleep and I felt it would ease her heart to know her husband was still alive. She gathered a few hairs from his brush and the White Bryony she was able to find growing naturally. She took to practicing the charm religiously, once when she woke and again before she slept.”
I went quiet, and Harry sat up a little straighter. “What, that’s it?”
“Well you can imagine what happened when his hair failed to glow white, can’t you?”
“He died?”
“Yes, Harry. He died.” I rubbed the smooth stone of my ring, trying to push the memory of her broken heart away. Miranda, lovely, sweet Miranda had stared for so long at the black glow of the hair, her face contorting into an anguish so profound that after a while I could no longer bear to be in her presence.
“She didn’t…?” Harry asked sympathetically, his brows arching, “Did she?”
“I assume so.”
“You don’t know?”
“She left. Took nothing with her. She’d worn her favorite dress - one he’d bought for her. I think it was red,” I said wistfully; it might’ve been blue, but the romantic in me insisted the color was red. “Vanished.”
Harry stared at me, caught in the tragedy of Miranda and her unborn child. He snapped from his gloom without warning, “C’mon,” he said, rising and holding out his hand for me. I took it, and he hefted me up. “Next time you’ll have to tell me a happy story, okay?”
I grinned wryly. “I don’t have many of those, I’m afraid.”
He gave me a look, and I wondered if he had taken that as a challenge. He walked toward the stairs and was halfway there before he changed his mind. He turned around as though he’d forgotten something, and I was astonished to see him stop before my skull and pick it up. He said nothing, avoiding my eye all the while, a faint coyness in his every move.
I followed - having little choice as it were. He cleared a space on his bedside table, some of the clutter falling to the floor in the process, and rested my skull there. He faced the bed slowly, perhaps about to crawl under the covers and roll over without an explanation - but the blankets were currently a tangled heap on the floor. Clearly dismayed, he reached for the sheets and duvet. I joined him in untangling and laying them flat across the mattress. His self-conscious uncertainty was as tangible as the soft fabric of the duvet beneath my hands and for the second time that evening, I had the urge to reach out to him. Ironic really, that I still denied myself the ability to comfort him with touch when I had for so long yearned for the means to do so.
I hesitated but a moment before crawling under the covers, hoping that it would encourage him to do the same. I felt the mattress dip; his weight settling beside me was oddly pleasing. He lay on his back just as I was, but stiffly. Far too stiffly.
“Shall I get you a warm glass of milk?” I queried the open silence.
I heard the exhaled breath of his laugh, and he rolled over facing away from me. “Shut up, Bob.”