I unlurk! I unlurk with fic!
I first said that I wouldn't post this until I was done, but... never trust a pirate English major.
[Title] The Redgrave Case (1 of 3)
[Verse] Television
[Pairing] Harry/Bob
[Rating] PG-13 (but rising by the next installment. srsly.)
[Summary] Every other fandom gets some sex pollen. Shouldn't Dresden Files have its equivalent?
*
The biggest problem with the Redgrave case wasn't actually the case so much as the cleaning up after it. The guy had turned out to be a fairly well-educated and well-off wizard type, practicing still at the ripe old age of sixty-something. It's because of this that after working with Murphy to close the case, I had to work somewhat against her to apprehend some pretty volatile stuff from the guy's basements. Theodore Redgrave, RIP. You left behind many explosions and more dried lungwort than I know what to do with.
So getting this all out of his old house on the edge of town was an escapade in itself, but once I got it all back into the shop Bob was on me in seconds to start unpacking it.
"The man had an almost limitless resource of money, and he never retired from his work, Harry, are you listening? There must be thousands of dollars worth of herbs, artifacts, all sorts of-"
"I know, Bob."
He was giving me his ‘No, Harry, you really don’t at all’ looks - that was a look that always made for a good teeth-clenching.
"I know. I do. It's more than just rosemary in there, but I gotta get some rest before I pass out on the floor. I've been going for sixteen hours and the whole battling evil thing kinda takes its toll after a while, so... jeez, Bob, what's got your panties in a twist?"
And he just had to give me that long-suffering look. "There could be anything in there, and you're not even curious."
"I'm curious. I'm very curious. I'm also very tired. Once I take care of the tired I'll take care of the curious. Do you remember tired? Sleepy? That whole-"
And sometimes, I'll admit, I'm really pretty dumb. Everything will be going along peachy, spat-wise, until I realize I've crossed that shady little line between reminding a certain someone that they're dead and rubbing it their face.
Bob's look had changed from a look to a look... maybe that'd make more sense if you'd lived with him for a decade or two... but anyways, he gave this curt little nod and made for the wall like he was going to go back to the labs and think about life, and how he didn't have it, and I was kicking myself already.
"Bob, I didn't-"
"I know you didn't."
"C'mon, let's. Let's open these trunks."
"You probably need your rest, Harry. They'll be there in the morning."
He wasn't taking the peace offering, but I wanted to give it so bad at this point. "Yeah, but. Maybe some of it's going off, and we could save it if we get to it now... Redgrave was getting on in the years, you know, maybe he forgot what needs to have the expiration date checked more than every half-century, you know?"
I knelt down and started jimmying the first lock open, one hand on the tools and the other gesturing the protective hexes away, and finally I could feel... or sense... Bob hovering over me, bent a little at the waist, giving in. Good.
"Dusty," he remarked casually.
"Yeah." I was sporting this stupid little smile and was really glad he couldn't see. "The guy needed a maid."
The first case had pretty boring stuff, but it was always good to have a surplus of anything. The inside of the cases looked sort of lined with weird velvety stuff, and Bob started on about it maybe being like this one thing he saw in Peru where it's cloth that maintains temperature better than any modern appliance, which could explain why the lungwort was so fresh, and he got to rattle on and cool off while I nodded in the right places and put everything away. The labels were all in sanskrit, too, which Bob decided aloud meant the guy was both elitist and also kind of obsessive-compulsive. Fortunately, all this stuff was recognizable on sight, so it was easy without the labels anyway.
It kinda felt like looting, but it also kinda felt like I was saving huge bucks on everything from aconite to wormwood.
So all was good until about the end of the second crate, where the yawning started setting in, but I was almost done with the hellebore and I'd already upturned the entire lab opening all the bottles and everything to get everything out of the crates and into the new digs. Bob was giving me a concerned look, and every now and again he'd say something like 'Wrong jar' or 'You don't want to put that with that'.
"A nap wouldn't hurt," he wheedled. I smiled tiredly. We'd switched places on this argument now.
"There's only a crate left," I reminded him.
"Yes, but as we've gone through every dull herb on the planet the third one's bound to be the one with the ready-mades, which means they're far more volatile than the leaves or roots you've been rustling around so far. Harry, go to bed."
And I'm sort of used to that firm voice in that baritone, and what it kinda does to me, but I'm also used to shaking it off and shoving it to the back of my mind. Even when I'm tired.
"Almost done."
"You're stubborn."
"You're not helping. C'mon." The hexes were harder, but not so hard that I needed to spend a good ten minutes on them like I did. Bob stood patiently by my side, keeping the concerned mutterings at bay because he knew I'd just waste breath saying I'm fine, just fine. Bob's good like that.
So we got through anti-aging potions, and love potions, but most of them were this weird convoluted-type recipe that I could never tell by sight, so I was holding every single one up to the light as Bob made thoughtful 'hmm'ing noises until he went 'ah, I see now,' and I'd get the sharpie to write its name in English over the sanskrit.
"He must have had some allergy to certain herbs, calling for avoidance of many common recipes and forcing him to find alternatives such as these..."
"Are they any good?"
"Hmm? Oh, I'm sure they'll work well enough. The substitutes are all quite clever, and most of them quite expensive."
"Expensive is good, I guess." I rubbed a hand across my face and set the calming brew down. What I needed was coffee, but if I headed to the kitchen I'd remind Bob that I was tired at all, and he'd nag me to just go to bed. If I stayed up just a few more hours he'd forget entirely about the whole dead comment. I knew him. Just a little longer with his mind on a puzzle like sanskrit and weird herbal substitutes and he'd be his old self again.
"Harry. Harry."
"Huh?"
"Focus. You almost dropped that."
"Oh." I looked down at my hand. "Sorry. Just."
He sighed behind me. "You're worn out."
"I'm fine, alright, I just-"
And in the whirling-around-to-glare-at-him process, I lost the damn bottle right out of my hand. Flung to the four winds, it bounced off one of the lower racks and crashed onto the floor with an ugly red plume of fine powder and mystical god knows what. The glass shards were the least of my worries, because I was pretty sure that stuff had just gotten into the air.
"Uh. Shit. Shit. Bob, is it noxious? Is it poison?"
Bob was already on it, rushing over and sticking his head into the cloud. I knew he didn't breathe, but something in me still twitched at seeing him so close to something harmful. I know, it makes no sense.
"Back away, Harry." He said it in that painfully calm voice that meant something was going down, so I backstepped towards the door but of course I hit the step with the back of my heel, and I'm tripping backwards and hitting my head on the reinforced steel and out for the count, almost before I hear the yelling.
"Harry! Harry! Wake up! Wake up!"
A liiiittle too late for that.
( second bit)
[Title] The Redgrave Case (1 of 3)
[Verse] Television
[Pairing] Harry/Bob
[Rating] PG-13 (but rising by the next installment. srsly.)
[Summary] Every other fandom gets some sex pollen. Shouldn't Dresden Files have its equivalent?
*
The biggest problem with the Redgrave case wasn't actually the case so much as the cleaning up after it. The guy had turned out to be a fairly well-educated and well-off wizard type, practicing still at the ripe old age of sixty-something. It's because of this that after working with Murphy to close the case, I had to work somewhat against her to apprehend some pretty volatile stuff from the guy's basements. Theodore Redgrave, RIP. You left behind many explosions and more dried lungwort than I know what to do with.
So getting this all out of his old house on the edge of town was an escapade in itself, but once I got it all back into the shop Bob was on me in seconds to start unpacking it.
"The man had an almost limitless resource of money, and he never retired from his work, Harry, are you listening? There must be thousands of dollars worth of herbs, artifacts, all sorts of-"
"I know, Bob."
He was giving me his ‘No, Harry, you really don’t at all’ looks - that was a look that always made for a good teeth-clenching.
"I know. I do. It's more than just rosemary in there, but I gotta get some rest before I pass out on the floor. I've been going for sixteen hours and the whole battling evil thing kinda takes its toll after a while, so... jeez, Bob, what's got your panties in a twist?"
And he just had to give me that long-suffering look. "There could be anything in there, and you're not even curious."
"I'm curious. I'm very curious. I'm also very tired. Once I take care of the tired I'll take care of the curious. Do you remember tired? Sleepy? That whole-"
And sometimes, I'll admit, I'm really pretty dumb. Everything will be going along peachy, spat-wise, until I realize I've crossed that shady little line between reminding a certain someone that they're dead and rubbing it their face.
Bob's look had changed from a look to a look... maybe that'd make more sense if you'd lived with him for a decade or two... but anyways, he gave this curt little nod and made for the wall like he was going to go back to the labs and think about life, and how he didn't have it, and I was kicking myself already.
"Bob, I didn't-"
"I know you didn't."
"C'mon, let's. Let's open these trunks."
"You probably need your rest, Harry. They'll be there in the morning."
He wasn't taking the peace offering, but I wanted to give it so bad at this point. "Yeah, but. Maybe some of it's going off, and we could save it if we get to it now... Redgrave was getting on in the years, you know, maybe he forgot what needs to have the expiration date checked more than every half-century, you know?"
I knelt down and started jimmying the first lock open, one hand on the tools and the other gesturing the protective hexes away, and finally I could feel... or sense... Bob hovering over me, bent a little at the waist, giving in. Good.
"Dusty," he remarked casually.
"Yeah." I was sporting this stupid little smile and was really glad he couldn't see. "The guy needed a maid."
The first case had pretty boring stuff, but it was always good to have a surplus of anything. The inside of the cases looked sort of lined with weird velvety stuff, and Bob started on about it maybe being like this one thing he saw in Peru where it's cloth that maintains temperature better than any modern appliance, which could explain why the lungwort was so fresh, and he got to rattle on and cool off while I nodded in the right places and put everything away. The labels were all in sanskrit, too, which Bob decided aloud meant the guy was both elitist and also kind of obsessive-compulsive. Fortunately, all this stuff was recognizable on sight, so it was easy without the labels anyway.
It kinda felt like looting, but it also kinda felt like I was saving huge bucks on everything from aconite to wormwood.
So all was good until about the end of the second crate, where the yawning started setting in, but I was almost done with the hellebore and I'd already upturned the entire lab opening all the bottles and everything to get everything out of the crates and into the new digs. Bob was giving me a concerned look, and every now and again he'd say something like 'Wrong jar' or 'You don't want to put that with that'.
"A nap wouldn't hurt," he wheedled. I smiled tiredly. We'd switched places on this argument now.
"There's only a crate left," I reminded him.
"Yes, but as we've gone through every dull herb on the planet the third one's bound to be the one with the ready-mades, which means they're far more volatile than the leaves or roots you've been rustling around so far. Harry, go to bed."
And I'm sort of used to that firm voice in that baritone, and what it kinda does to me, but I'm also used to shaking it off and shoving it to the back of my mind. Even when I'm tired.
"Almost done."
"You're stubborn."
"You're not helping. C'mon." The hexes were harder, but not so hard that I needed to spend a good ten minutes on them like I did. Bob stood patiently by my side, keeping the concerned mutterings at bay because he knew I'd just waste breath saying I'm fine, just fine. Bob's good like that.
So we got through anti-aging potions, and love potions, but most of them were this weird convoluted-type recipe that I could never tell by sight, so I was holding every single one up to the light as Bob made thoughtful 'hmm'ing noises until he went 'ah, I see now,' and I'd get the sharpie to write its name in English over the sanskrit.
"He must have had some allergy to certain herbs, calling for avoidance of many common recipes and forcing him to find alternatives such as these..."
"Are they any good?"
"Hmm? Oh, I'm sure they'll work well enough. The substitutes are all quite clever, and most of them quite expensive."
"Expensive is good, I guess." I rubbed a hand across my face and set the calming brew down. What I needed was coffee, but if I headed to the kitchen I'd remind Bob that I was tired at all, and he'd nag me to just go to bed. If I stayed up just a few more hours he'd forget entirely about the whole dead comment. I knew him. Just a little longer with his mind on a puzzle like sanskrit and weird herbal substitutes and he'd be his old self again.
"Harry. Harry."
"Huh?"
"Focus. You almost dropped that."
"Oh." I looked down at my hand. "Sorry. Just."
He sighed behind me. "You're worn out."
"I'm fine, alright, I just-"
And in the whirling-around-to-glare-at-him process, I lost the damn bottle right out of my hand. Flung to the four winds, it bounced off one of the lower racks and crashed onto the floor with an ugly red plume of fine powder and mystical god knows what. The glass shards were the least of my worries, because I was pretty sure that stuff had just gotten into the air.
"Uh. Shit. Shit. Bob, is it noxious? Is it poison?"
Bob was already on it, rushing over and sticking his head into the cloud. I knew he didn't breathe, but something in me still twitched at seeing him so close to something harmful. I know, it makes no sense.
"Back away, Harry." He said it in that painfully calm voice that meant something was going down, so I backstepped towards the door but of course I hit the step with the back of my heel, and I'm tripping backwards and hitting my head on the reinforced steel and out for the count, almost before I hear the yelling.
"Harry! Harry! Wake up! Wake up!"
A liiiittle too late for that.
( second bit)