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darktrent182TITLE: The Darker Shades of Grey
DISCLAIMER: The Dresden Files doesn't belong to me – the TV series belongs to Lionsgate, and the characters themselves were created by Jim Butcher. Written for entertainment purposes, no money made, please don't sue, yadda.
FANDOM: The Dresden Files
WORD COUNT: 1,608
RATING: G
WARNINGS: Mention of Harry whumpage? Spoilers for Grave Peril.
SUMMARY: Harry comes home after defeating a demon, only to take on Bob.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A vignette, read over by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shiplizard, who’s been a tremendous help, beta/sounding board combo platter, and all-around just incredibly patient with me. There's more to come, if anyone's interested. Harry POV.
***
"I see that you've returned in one piece," Bob said brightly as I made my way to the kitchen. I fished out a bag of peas from the freezer and gingerly applied it to the spot on my head where I'd taken a two-by-four. "Did you vanquish the villain?"
I nodded carefully, making my way over to the couch and sitting down heavily. "Yeah," I got out, wincing as some of the bruises on my legs protested. "Sent back to Hell. All in a day's work."
Bob frowned, walking around the couch and looking down at me with frown lines between his eyes. "Do you need to use a healing spell? Perhaps a potion?"
I shook my head. "Just some bumps and bruises." I tried not to think about what had happened at that warehouse. "I'm fine."
"You being beaten usually doesn't give you the look of someone about to undergo months of self-flagellation," Bob pointed out dryly. "What happened?"
It took a bit to bring Bob back up to speed -- the demon led me a merry chase before the final showdown, and when I'd gotten there, I discovered that it had gotten some human muscle. Unlike the Black Court vampires who tended to completely demolish the minds of the Renfields they create, these guys knew what they were doing. They were still aware, and when they were laying in pools of their own blood, some of them were scared to parts of their soul that even they might not have known existed.
The guys that weren't killed by the spells I threw around died in the fire. Just like at Bianca's.
When I wrapped up the story, Bob was staring at me, his face blank.
"Bob..." I shook my head. "I just let them die."
"They made a choice, Harry," Bob said. "They chose to work with the demon."
"Demons lie, Bob," I objected.
"They still chose to believe it," Bob replied. "You were protecting yourself--"
"I killed them," I snapped, closing my eyes and sinking into the couch. "I don't know if I'd do it again, and that scares the hell out of me."
One of Bob's eyebrows rose, and he folded his arms. "Harry, listen to me."
I opened my eyes, and looked up at him.
Bob didn't lose time. "You, more than anyone else, know what dabbling in the black means, what it does to you. Unlike weaker wizards -- weaker men -- you've resisted its call." Bob watched me for a moment before continuing. "Your heart is good, Harry. Don't forget that. I might not be able to change your mind for you, but I will continue to remind you of that fact."
I dropped my eyes, not feeling comfortable looking up at him. "How'd you do it?"
"How did I do what?"
"You used black magic, and you're still a good man." I looked back up at him.
Bob blinked. "It's fascinating how you can think that."
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"Your uncle had copies of grimoires I had written early in my career -- you yourself had an idea of just how dangerous those magics were, right before you burned those books to cinders -- and I used that knowledge as a starting point to resurrect my dead lover." Bob explained. "After all that, why do you think I'm a good man?"
The question surprised me. "Bob, we've been working together for the past five years. You've helped me with cases-- Stars and stones, you taught me almost everything I know about magic. If you were really evil, you would've taught me all of the black magic you could think of so that I'd be the perfect attack dog for my uncle."
"Instead, I taught you defense against black magic, and just enough to allow you to kill your uncle," Bob replied. "I've done worse in order to escape previous masters."
I stood up with some effort to face him down better, looking down at him as he stared back at me, his blue-green eyes hard. "All right, Bob, let me turn the argument around on you -- if me torching a warehouse full of people means that it was just a moral slip, then you getting away from masters who were just using you--"
"Don't finish that statement, Harry," Bob said flatly. "I've been a self-serving being for more than eight hundred years. In my day, my name was one to be feared and reckoned with."
"What makes you think I'm any better?" I demanded. "I'm only thirty now. Just think of the damage I can do when I'm older."
"How often have you taken on a client who was unable to pay?" Bob shot back, glaring at me and folding his arms across his chest. "How often have you saved someone's life with no reward, no recognition, not even a 'thank you' and the good lieutenant breathing down your neck because she can't make it make sense in her narrow-minded view of the world?"
"How often have you been there for me when no one else has?" I snapped back. "How often did you explain things to me so they'd make sense? How often did you keep me company when Justin was too busy with his stupid, paranoid crap?"
"How do you know that wasn't part of a plan?" Bob asked, his voice lowering to a murmur that raised the hair on the back of my neck. "Lure you in, gain your trust. A comment here, a nudge there, and you would have been mine for the taking."
I snorted. "If you were really that evil, you would've steered me to help my uncle."
"No, I merely watched you eliminate a master," Bob replied coolly. "True, you 'self-defensed' him to death," he said mockingly, "but I was done with your uncle's petty games and dreams of power, and had been for some time."
"And now you're stuck with me here," I said, smirking. "Barely able to pay the rent, helping whoever comes through that door with a sob story."
"And what do I usually say to you?" Bob shot back. "I pester you about the rent, I ask that you remember to charge them for your trouble, I demand to know why you're risking your life for people who treat you with skepticism." He shook his head. "I'm not the man you believe me to be."
"No, you're not," I said. "Whoever you were when you were alive, you're better than him now."
Bob stared at me for a long minute, blue-green eyes widening as his arms dropped to his sides. "You truly believe that, don't you."
"Yeah. I do." I glared at him, feeling myself getting angry over how stupid it was that he couldn't see it for himself. "You're not Hrothbert of Bainbridge anymore."
"Oh, really?" Bob asked, his voice smooth even as one of his eyebrows rose to regard me with amusement.
And as I watched, his jacket and slacks melted into a set of brown-black robes, the edges covered with runes and sigils that I vaguely recognized. A wave of a pale hand summoned a long, black staff, which he gripped, the runes carved into the wood shimmering. The hood was up, completely covering his head and face, and when he peeled it back, it was like looking at a different person entirely.
Even as a ghost, Bob had this... aura about him. Like he could take on the entire High Council without batting an eye. He'd already faced them down once, eight hundred or so years ago, but it was more than that. I almost could see him in my mind's eye -- kneeling, but not subservient. Bowed, but undefeated. And when the blow struck, knocking out a piece of his skull, he went down cursing the wizards who had executed him.
It scared the hell out of me.
"Bob?" I whispered. I didn't know why I called him that -- habit, maybe, or maybe it was because I wanted my friend back. To make sure he was still in there, even when faced with a wizard who seemed more of a monster than a human being.
Bob-- no, Hrothbert shook his head.
As I watched, his lips pursed into a considering expression that I recognized with a pang in my chest. He was debating something, but what it was he was thinking of, I had no idea.
Now, I don't do too well when I'm scared. I tend to lash out, get really angry instead, and the way that Hrothbert was staring at me wasn't helping.
"Get back in your skull, Bob," I managed, barely able to push the words out.
He reached up and stroked the back of his middle finger down my cheek, the unnatural tingle like lightning against my skin.
"I said get back in your skull," I snarled. "Now."
One last smirk, and then the familiar glowing red spark of brimstone swirled around him, his robes and staff melting away into smoke before the mote flew over in a slow, graceful arc to sink into one of the skull's eye sockets.
Breathing in deeply, I sat back down on the couch again, feeling my heart hammer in my chest.
Intellectually, I knew that Bob was dead, that he couldn't have hurt me, even if he had wanted to. But when I was staring him down, he looked like he could have killed me. That if I was an obstacle to him, he wouldn't have spared a second thought about mowing me down.
And that hurt more than I ever thought it would.
"Oh, Bob..."
DISCLAIMER: The Dresden Files doesn't belong to me – the TV series belongs to Lionsgate, and the characters themselves were created by Jim Butcher. Written for entertainment purposes, no money made, please don't sue, yadda.
FANDOM: The Dresden Files
WORD COUNT: 1,608
RATING: G
WARNINGS: Mention of Harry whumpage? Spoilers for Grave Peril.
SUMMARY: Harry comes home after defeating a demon, only to take on Bob.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: A vignette, read over by
shiplizard, who’s been a tremendous help, beta/sounding board combo platter, and all-around just incredibly patient with me. There's more to come, if anyone's interested. Harry POV.***
"I see that you've returned in one piece," Bob said brightly as I made my way to the kitchen. I fished out a bag of peas from the freezer and gingerly applied it to the spot on my head where I'd taken a two-by-four. "Did you vanquish the villain?"
I nodded carefully, making my way over to the couch and sitting down heavily. "Yeah," I got out, wincing as some of the bruises on my legs protested. "Sent back to Hell. All in a day's work."
Bob frowned, walking around the couch and looking down at me with frown lines between his eyes. "Do you need to use a healing spell? Perhaps a potion?"
I shook my head. "Just some bumps and bruises." I tried not to think about what had happened at that warehouse. "I'm fine."
"You being beaten usually doesn't give you the look of someone about to undergo months of self-flagellation," Bob pointed out dryly. "What happened?"
It took a bit to bring Bob back up to speed -- the demon led me a merry chase before the final showdown, and when I'd gotten there, I discovered that it had gotten some human muscle. Unlike the Black Court vampires who tended to completely demolish the minds of the Renfields they create, these guys knew what they were doing. They were still aware, and when they were laying in pools of their own blood, some of them were scared to parts of their soul that even they might not have known existed.
The guys that weren't killed by the spells I threw around died in the fire. Just like at Bianca's.
When I wrapped up the story, Bob was staring at me, his face blank.
"Bob..." I shook my head. "I just let them die."
"They made a choice, Harry," Bob said. "They chose to work with the demon."
"Demons lie, Bob," I objected.
"They still chose to believe it," Bob replied. "You were protecting yourself--"
"I killed them," I snapped, closing my eyes and sinking into the couch. "I don't know if I'd do it again, and that scares the hell out of me."
One of Bob's eyebrows rose, and he folded his arms. "Harry, listen to me."
I opened my eyes, and looked up at him.
Bob didn't lose time. "You, more than anyone else, know what dabbling in the black means, what it does to you. Unlike weaker wizards -- weaker men -- you've resisted its call." Bob watched me for a moment before continuing. "Your heart is good, Harry. Don't forget that. I might not be able to change your mind for you, but I will continue to remind you of that fact."
I dropped my eyes, not feeling comfortable looking up at him. "How'd you do it?"
"How did I do what?"
"You used black magic, and you're still a good man." I looked back up at him.
Bob blinked. "It's fascinating how you can think that."
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"Your uncle had copies of grimoires I had written early in my career -- you yourself had an idea of just how dangerous those magics were, right before you burned those books to cinders -- and I used that knowledge as a starting point to resurrect my dead lover." Bob explained. "After all that, why do you think I'm a good man?"
The question surprised me. "Bob, we've been working together for the past five years. You've helped me with cases-- Stars and stones, you taught me almost everything I know about magic. If you were really evil, you would've taught me all of the black magic you could think of so that I'd be the perfect attack dog for my uncle."
"Instead, I taught you defense against black magic, and just enough to allow you to kill your uncle," Bob replied. "I've done worse in order to escape previous masters."
I stood up with some effort to face him down better, looking down at him as he stared back at me, his blue-green eyes hard. "All right, Bob, let me turn the argument around on you -- if me torching a warehouse full of people means that it was just a moral slip, then you getting away from masters who were just using you--"
"Don't finish that statement, Harry," Bob said flatly. "I've been a self-serving being for more than eight hundred years. In my day, my name was one to be feared and reckoned with."
"What makes you think I'm any better?" I demanded. "I'm only thirty now. Just think of the damage I can do when I'm older."
"How often have you taken on a client who was unable to pay?" Bob shot back, glaring at me and folding his arms across his chest. "How often have you saved someone's life with no reward, no recognition, not even a 'thank you' and the good lieutenant breathing down your neck because she can't make it make sense in her narrow-minded view of the world?"
"How often have you been there for me when no one else has?" I snapped back. "How often did you explain things to me so they'd make sense? How often did you keep me company when Justin was too busy with his stupid, paranoid crap?"
"How do you know that wasn't part of a plan?" Bob asked, his voice lowering to a murmur that raised the hair on the back of my neck. "Lure you in, gain your trust. A comment here, a nudge there, and you would have been mine for the taking."
I snorted. "If you were really that evil, you would've steered me to help my uncle."
"No, I merely watched you eliminate a master," Bob replied coolly. "True, you 'self-defensed' him to death," he said mockingly, "but I was done with your uncle's petty games and dreams of power, and had been for some time."
"And now you're stuck with me here," I said, smirking. "Barely able to pay the rent, helping whoever comes through that door with a sob story."
"And what do I usually say to you?" Bob shot back. "I pester you about the rent, I ask that you remember to charge them for your trouble, I demand to know why you're risking your life for people who treat you with skepticism." He shook his head. "I'm not the man you believe me to be."
"No, you're not," I said. "Whoever you were when you were alive, you're better than him now."
Bob stared at me for a long minute, blue-green eyes widening as his arms dropped to his sides. "You truly believe that, don't you."
"Yeah. I do." I glared at him, feeling myself getting angry over how stupid it was that he couldn't see it for himself. "You're not Hrothbert of Bainbridge anymore."
"Oh, really?" Bob asked, his voice smooth even as one of his eyebrows rose to regard me with amusement.
And as I watched, his jacket and slacks melted into a set of brown-black robes, the edges covered with runes and sigils that I vaguely recognized. A wave of a pale hand summoned a long, black staff, which he gripped, the runes carved into the wood shimmering. The hood was up, completely covering his head and face, and when he peeled it back, it was like looking at a different person entirely.
Even as a ghost, Bob had this... aura about him. Like he could take on the entire High Council without batting an eye. He'd already faced them down once, eight hundred or so years ago, but it was more than that. I almost could see him in my mind's eye -- kneeling, but not subservient. Bowed, but undefeated. And when the blow struck, knocking out a piece of his skull, he went down cursing the wizards who had executed him.
It scared the hell out of me.
"Bob?" I whispered. I didn't know why I called him that -- habit, maybe, or maybe it was because I wanted my friend back. To make sure he was still in there, even when faced with a wizard who seemed more of a monster than a human being.
Bob-- no, Hrothbert shook his head.
As I watched, his lips pursed into a considering expression that I recognized with a pang in my chest. He was debating something, but what it was he was thinking of, I had no idea.
Now, I don't do too well when I'm scared. I tend to lash out, get really angry instead, and the way that Hrothbert was staring at me wasn't helping.
"Get back in your skull, Bob," I managed, barely able to push the words out.
He reached up and stroked the back of his middle finger down my cheek, the unnatural tingle like lightning against my skin.
"I said get back in your skull," I snarled. "Now."
One last smirk, and then the familiar glowing red spark of brimstone swirled around him, his robes and staff melting away into smoke before the mote flew over in a slow, graceful arc to sink into one of the skull's eye sockets.
Breathing in deeply, I sat back down on the couch again, feeling my heart hammer in my chest.
Intellectually, I knew that Bob was dead, that he couldn't have hurt me, even if he had wanted to. But when I was staring him down, he looked like he could have killed me. That if I was an obstacle to him, he wouldn't have spared a second thought about mowing me down.
And that hurt more than I ever thought it would.
"Oh, Bob..."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-02-17 11:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-24 02:47 am (UTC)Glad you liked.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-18 03:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-24 02:47 am (UTC)Glad you loved.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-19 01:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-24 02:48 am (UTC)And pretty soon, you're sending the muses to separate corners for timeout.
:D
no subject
Date: 2008-02-19 05:28 am (UTC)I eagerly await more.
no subject
Date: 2008-03-24 02:49 am (UTC)But thank you for the compliment! Glad you liked. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-02-19 09:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-24 02:51 am (UTC)I'm glad I was able to have that effect on ya, and I'm glad you liked the fic. :D
no subject
Date: 2008-03-23 06:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-23 06:24 am (UTC)And as soon as I can get the bunny kickstarted again, I'll see what I can do, really.
I love "Dead & Damned", by the by. Cthulhu-ness!
no subject
Date: 2008-03-23 06:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-23 06:39 am (UTC)\o/!
no subject
Date: 2008-05-28 01:19 am (UTC)And pointing out the fundamental difference between Hrothbert and Bob--and the fact that, as much as Harry wants to believe in Bob, some of Hrothbert is still there.
How fantastically creepy it was, reading him change like that. Particularly how he flatly ignores Harry here--"Get back in your skull, Bob," I managed, barely able to push the words out.
He reached up and stroked the back of his middle finger down my cheek, the unnatural tingle like lightning against my skin. -- then smirks before he leaves. Because even when he's bound to his skull, Hrothbert still has that power over Harry.
Masterfully done!
no subject
Date: 2008-05-28 02:12 am (UTC)Glad you liked the fic, and I'm glad it worked for you. :D
I was a bit worried that Bob changing his clothes and such would be too corny, but hey, if it works, run with it! :D
no subject
Date: 2008-06-01 03:38 am (UTC)i think this HAS to be my favorite piece, and i wish there was more of it.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-21 07:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-21 08:22 pm (UTC)*waves in a friendly sort of fashion*
I'm glad you liked it. :D