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darktrent182TITLE: Vignette - The First Oath
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
PAIRING: Harry/Bob UST
WORD COUNT: 5,889
RATING: PG-13?
WARNINGS: Harry's still in love with Bob?
SUMMARY: It's been a month since Harry and Bob had their fight, and Bob hasn't been around...
PRAISE BE: A warm fuzzy blankie of thank you goes out to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shiplizard, who produced a good chunk of dialogue, and allowed me to rewrite and revise as needed. And another warm fuzzy blankie of thank you goes out to beachkid for beta-reading, encouragement, and questions. I wouldn't have been able to make it without their patience and awesomeness. Thank you, guys!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is part of the Forged series, which starts with Desperate Measures. You might want to read that first to understand what's going on.
***
It took me about a week to get over being pissed off. It took me a few more weeks to work up the courage to do something about it.
Bob and I have had arguments before, but there had been unspoken lines that neither of us were supposed to cross. My father had always been a sensitive subject for me, ever since I was a kid, and Bob had known that. I was still pissed off that Bob had gone that low, but now that I had had time to really think things over, it was possible that he felt like he'd been attacked first.
Bob had known for centuries that the High Council didn't, and still doesn't, trust him. The most powerful wizards in the world could bind him with multiple spells that would force him to tell the truth, and the wizards on the High Council would just assume that he'd find a way around them. Stars and stones, a couple of the spells that bound him already forced cooperation with the owner of the skull, if not outright obedience, and those functioned on the same principle, if my conversations with Bob were anything to go by. The Merlin was of the opinion that once a wizard turned to the black, there was no hope for them. I guess a few centuries isn't long enough to change some people's minds. It was just funny to think that, all this time, the Council was actually overestimating Bob's abilities to circumvent spells.
During the week that I'd taken to try to calm down, I'd finally settled into my new home, unpacking boxes and arranging the furniture in my office to encourage customers to come to me with their problems -- a few chairs in front of my desk, which was already starting to get cluttered with appointments and knickknacks I was unpacking, some homey touches to make it seem less intimidating. The physical work did me good, and I had to admit that maybe Ebenezar had a point about hard work being good for the soul. It had certainly given me time to think over things.
First, I realized I had to make the first move in mending the rift. Bob hadn't shown up at any time to offer color commentary while I was unpacking or rearranging things, so it was possible that he was still sulking about the fight. It was a bit strange because his usual mode of operations was to hang around and needle me, not to leave me alone completely. Maybe he was pissed about me ordering him into his skull. It had been the first time I'd ever done it, though I'd witnessed Justin doing it a couple times when I was younger.
I had to admit that I was a little embarrassed about the fight, too. The only time he'd ever seriously yelled at me was when I was thirteen, and I was about to blow myself up with a potion by accident. And I still remember that dressing down to this day. This fight was... different.
I attacked him, plain and simple. I was out for blood, and I got it. When he started yelling at me, and going after my father, my best defense had been to order him into his skull, just like Justin would whenever I eavesdropped on fights the two of them had. And considering what I knew now about my uncle, it made me sick to my stomach that I might be turning into him.
It felt kind of stupid to apologize without offering an olive branch of some kind, though. If I needed his help with a project, or advice about the consulting business, it'd be easier to slip in an apology about ordering him into his skull without that being the only reason to talk to him. What can I say? It's a guy thing.
Ironically enough, thinking of an olive branch was actually a problem. There hadn't been anything big enough to need his advice on. Most of the stuff I'd been doing to pay the bills had been fairly simple -- setting up wards for the superstitious, finding lost wedding rings, small stuff. Sure, there was the usual amount of people calling to ask if I was for real, but it went with the territory, and I wouldn't need Bob's advice on that either, since I could come up with responses on my own. So, unless I came to Bob with something complex, asking for help on a tracking spell was going to look pretty pathetic.
The idea hit me, almost literally, when someone tried to mug me. In hindsight, he really hadn't been much of a threat. I don't know what the guy was thinking, trying to take me on, since I was a foot taller than him and about fifty pounds heavier, but the fact remained that the guy had gotten in one solid punch, and I'd remembered thinking that if I'd had time to prep a spell, I could've laid him out flat.
It took some time to figure out the basic formula, but after staring down six lines of sigils, I had a feeling that I was missing something.
It was the perfect olive branch.
I opened the door to the lab, my notes in hand, and made sure to light some candles with a muttered spell. The lab used to be an interior office, when the owner showed me around, but since I'd already decided that I'd convert the front room into the office, I'd ended up seizing the opportunity to create the perfect secret lab, all for the low cost of a steel-reinforced door and enough paint so that the casual observer would think there was just more wall.
The lab was simple enough in design. There were tables along the walls of the room, except for a few cabinets and shelving units that took up most of the wall opposite the door. A long worktable sat squarely in the middle of the room, already crowded with books, experiments, and things that I'd left out that I'd used for jobs recently. The ring of copper bolted into the floor was a few feet away from that, and I'd made it a habit to keep it clear, just in case.
Bob's skull was right where I'd left it yesterday, serving as a paperweight for one of the tomes I'd been consulting.
"Bob," I said, setting the notes down and glancing at the skull before looking for a fresh pencil. "Up and at 'em. C'mon, I need your help."
The glowing ember of light flowed out of one of the skull's eyesockets before swirling in tight circles a few feet away, revealing Bob wearing a dark blue suit. He was standing stiffly, his hands held behind his back, his face looking straight forward. "How may I be of assistance?" he asked promptly.
That was... different. I frowned, but kept going as if nothing was wrong. "Uh, yeah. I've got a project I just started, and I wanted your input."
"What is the nature of the project?" Bob asked. I noticed that he stopped himself from saying something further. I also noticed that he didn't look me in the eye.
This was getting weirder by the minute. "I want for a way to transmit lots of force," I explained. "Y'know, collect stray magic and turn it into kinetic energy on my command. Like super-charged brass knuckles."
Bob didn't react. Hell, he didn't even blink, and for a guy who still went through the motions of being mortal, that was noticeable. "What input do you wish for me to give?" he asked, his voice still blank.
I frowned again. "I've started some of the work already," I said, putting the notes down and spreading them out so that he could read them. "I know that there's something I'm missing, but I don't know what it is."
Bob broke from his Imperial guardsmen impression to walk over to the notes and read them, keeping his hands firmly behind his back. I saw his eyes narrow a little, but other than that, it was looking like a statue. It was starting to creep me out.
And while my brain was processing what was so creepy about this situation, my mouth was on auto-pilot. "So, what do you think? Is this going to work well, or should I go back to the drawing board?"
Bob hummed a little, not even looking at me.
"Bob?" I asked.
"The core of the project has merit," Bob murmured, still looking at the notes. "Though perhaps it can be... refined?"
Ordinarily, when Bob's speaking in that kind of tone, parts of me sit up and take notice. But this time around, it felt... off, somehow. "I'm all about refining. What've you got?"
"The ankh here allows the energy to gather and then the rod pushes outward, but perhaps if the two were reversed, it would allow for a smoother gathering..."
And it kept going on like that for about ten minutes. Lots of "perhaps" and "maybe" and hedging his bets, and at the same time, a lot less of his usual lecturing. When he got to the third line of the formula, I mentally smacked my forehead with my palm. The way Bob was going, there were four sigils that didn't even need to be there in the first place, and were actually getting in the way of what the spell was trying to do.
"Bob?"
Bob stopped, and straightened, looking at me with a respectful, blank look on his face. I'm still trying to figure out how he did it. "Yes?"
I pointed a finger at the sigils I'd zeroed in on in the previous line. "Those don't need to be in there, do they?"
Bob blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"These here," I said, tapping the paper. "With the way the spell's going, they're just clutter. How come you didn't just say so in the first place?" Because there was no way in hell that Bob hadn't noticed those sigils, and with all of his tentative suggestions about how to possibly refine the formula, I'd only just figured it out.
Bob looked at the text again, and nodded slowly. "You're quite right, my apologies." Even though he looked blank, there was something about him that got my attention, and not in the usual pleasant wistfully-in-love sort of way. "Shall I assume that you wish to remove them from the equation entirely?"
"Wouldn't it be more efficient to take them out?" I asked, a bit surprised by the question. Had this been any other lesson, he would've taken them out without thinking about it.
"I would think so, yes," he said mildly, "but, of course, it's--"
"--only a suggestion," I cut in before he could finish the sentence. "Yeah, I get it." I looked at the notes again. "Okay, so, these are out." I picked up one of my stubby pencils and scratched through the four sigils. "Now, what else is there?" I looked over the formula again, and noticed a pentacle. "Should I take this out, too?"
Bob, who'd been looking over my shoulder, visibly paused for a moment. "You're certainly free to do so."
If Bob hedging his bets hadn't clued me in that I was about to do something boneheaded, it was the fact that pentacles did one of two things: they either kept stuff in or kept stuff out. If I wanted to concentrate energy into one big burst, I would need something similar energy-gathering-wise in order to make it work. I nearly smacked my forehead, but I stopped myself.
Bob was hedging his bets. He was saying "perhaps" and "maybe" like he wasn't sure what he was doing. During this whole conversation, he hadn't once said "no" to me. I was about to do something that would make the spell fall apart, and he hadn't stopped me.
I looked over my shoulder, his face not too far away from mine. If I'd been ten years younger, I would've been sweating and wondering if he knew, if he could tell how I felt just by looking at me. Now, I was watching him, taking in his pale skin, his blue-green eyes, his white hair.
I could have gone one of two ways with this. I could have called him on it then and there, asking why he didn't say anything about it. Or I could have played dumb, try to push his buttons. Get him to react.
Playing dumb is easy for me, and you know how the ones you love always look beautiful when they're angry? Bob looks downright sexy.
"Y'know, what if I draw in potential energy, and then amplify it, and then spit it back out as kinetic energy?" I asked, my stubby pencil still in my hand. One of the things that Bob had taught me was the law of the conservation of energy. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only changed from one form or another. Sure, wizards have access to magic, but magic still obeys the laws of physics to a certain extent, and smart wizards are quick to learn that and use it to their advantage. What I was proposing would've been stupid at best.
Since I already knew this, I was waiting for Bob to remind me of it.
And he didn't. He'd gone back to looking at my scribbled notes, and didn't look up.
"Well," I kept going, as if there hadn't been an awkward pause. "How about something that works like the shield bracelet? The shield projects a wall of force, right? So, project a wall of force, and keep going." Another stupid idea. The shield produces a strong, but brittle circle of force. Trying to attack with it would have defeated the purpose of the shield in the first place, since it would have shattered almost immediately.
Bob finally turned from the notes on the lab table to stare at me as if I'd grown a second head. "Did you never listen when I was teaching you?" he snapped with a note of despair.
I blinked, a bit surprised at the volume. Part of me wanted to start grinning and shout, There you are!
Bob suddenly stopped, his pale skin going paler -- which I hadn't thought possible. And then he visibly tensed, right in front of my eyes.
"That was inappropriate of me," he said in a low, hurried tone, his eyes glancing down at the lab table before meeting mine again. "I can promise you, it will not happen again."
"Bob?" I blinked. He'd done a lot worse when I was a kid, and I wasn't listening. "Don't stop now. We're getting somewhere. What'm I wrong about?"
Bob stared at me, his blue-green eyes narrowing. He still shook with tension, but now there was a confused light in his eyes. "If I were to hazard a criticism, I might venture that your suggestions were ill-advised, but not wholly wrong." He pressed his lips together quickly.
"'Ill-advised'?" I frowned. "Bob, they were downright stupid. You just implied as much. Now, let's go back to the formula. Should I throw it out and start fresh, or is there a way to fix it?" From where I was standing, if I didn't get this project right, it was a disaster waiting to happen at just the wrong time. The best thing to do at this point would be to chuck it, at least until I had more of a grasp of what was going on. Bob's hedging and "suggestions" weren't helping fix things.
Still, Bob did like to wax pedantic. Once he got on a roll, I'd probably be able to figure out how to save the project and figure out what was going on with him.
Bob frowned at me before clearing his throat. "I have your permission to speak freely, then?"
Dammit, it was one step forward and two steps back with him. "Please," I almost growled. I didn't mean to, but the yes-man act was starting to wear thin. And to be honest, it was also starting to scare the hell out of me. I mean, did this always happen to Bob whenever a new master took over his skull? Was this the curse's doing? After what felt like a couple million years in here, I still wasn't any closer to figuring out why I was suddenly persona non grata with my mentor.
Bob startled, but recovered quickly enough. He looked over my calculations again, and started copying them, the designs burning cheerful and bright in the air in front of him. He looked like he was about to mutter something under his breath, but his lips pressed together in a thin line, and he worked in eerie silence. When the formula was finished, he looked up and squinted at the sigils. "If you would, please remind me what the specific intended effect is for this working again?"
"Magical brass knuckles, Bob," I prompted. "It collects stray magic and stores it. When I give the word, all the stored energy turns into kinetic energy and explodes out towards whatever I'm pointing at."
Bob paused in his perusal of the sigils, and I saw him fight not to look at me. He then took two very pointed steps to the right, turned on his heel, and then quickly sketched out a formula that was three lines shorter, and included some sigils I hadn't seen before. When he was finished, he stepped back from the formula so that I could see it and looked at me blankly. "This formula will be more effective," he said simply.
I looked at him, and then up at the formula he'd sketched out, zeroing in on the first sigil I didn't know. "What's this one?" I pointed at it, careful not to touch it, or the rest of the formula. "I've never seen it before."
Since I'd managed to crack Bob's good-servant facade earlier, I'd been hoping for an eye-roll, one of his looks that spoke volumes about how hopeless I was, and a nice long explanation. What I got instead was much shorter.
Bob looked at the sigil. "This sigil draws on a naturally occurring energy, and in conjunction with the asp, alters it. In this case specifically, the asp draws on naturally occurring kinetic energy -- human beings move their arms out of habit when they walk -- and changes that energy into potential energy, which is stored inside the vessel."
"Kinetic energy?" I winced. One of Bob's favorite lessons was work smarter, not harder. Potential and kinetic energy worked together like push and pull. When kinetic energy runs out, it becomes potential, and when potential energy moves, it's kinetic. So, why overcomplicate things by trying to collect a lot of magic from the surroundings when I can just save up little bits of energy whenever I move my own body. All I would have to do is wear the ring when I go out for a jog, or even do some yoga, and I was set for the next time someone tried to mug me. Simple. "Dammit. I'm an idiot."
Bob didn't share the smile, nor did he look annoyed at me for having forgotten something so simple. He just... kept looking blank. "If I may, previous masters have forgotten basic concepts of magical theory. If it is your wish, I can double-check your work to ensure efficiency." His eyes focused on mine intensely.
"I'm more in the market for a teacher than a proofreader," I said. "You up for it?"
Bob's lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes continued to stare into mine. "What... areas would you wish instruction in?"
In some of the fantasies I haven't completely gotten out of my head, this conversation would've been headed toward a lot fewer clothes and my bedroom upstairs. Instead, I felt my heart sink in my chest. For all the effort I was putting into it, I wasn't getting through to him. We were in the same room, but for all the effort I was putting in, Bob was further away than the moon. "How about we take a break?" I suggested. My voice sounded almost as tired as I felt. "Come back to it tomorrow?"
Bob's eyes narrowed at me, but he only asked, "Have I your permission to remain outside of my skull?"
I couldn't stop myself from wincing. This whole project was supposed to be one big olive branch so that we could put the fight behind us. Even if I'd messed up the being friends with him part somehow, I couldn't leave without apologizing to him. "Bob, look... about what I said. I was out of line, and I was treating you like you were the enemy."
"I'm sorry?" Bob said politely, arching his eyebrows.
I sighed. It figured he'd want to get as much out of an apology as he could. "I'm sorry for not trusting you, and I'm sorry for being pissed off and taking it out on you. Ordering you in your skull wasn't the best way to deal with it, and it's not like you have a defense against that kind of thing." I breathed in deeply and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry."
Bob frowned, watching me closely. "You have no need to apologize to me."
I frowned back at him. "Bob, I called you a powerless liar, and I ordered you in your skull when you brought up my dad because I couldn't take it. If that's not reason enough for apologizing, I don't know what is."
Bob paused, but then spoke slowly. "I realize that due to your recent acquisition of my skull, it's possible you are unaware of the entirety of my servitude to you, Wizard Dresden. I am your humble and loyal servant, until such a time as you meet your demise, or you see fit to destroy my vessel. You have no need to apologize to me because I serve you. As dictated by my sentence, whatever the owner of my skull deems is appropriate punishment should be used without hesitation."
"Bullshit."
Bob blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I said bullshit, Bob, and I meant it," I said. "You're not a servant, you're not an interactive grimoire, you're my friend, and I did something really shitty that I shouldn't have. Yeah, I was upset about what you said about my dad, and I'm sorry for sticking you in your skull instead of just walking away, but you could've talked to me about it, y'know."
Bob blinked, and then he glanced at his skull, and back at me again, his eyes narrowing. "You didn't know what you were doing, did you? When you ordered me into my skull a month ago?"
"I was ordering you to get in your skull?" I said tentatively. I could feel something tightening in my stomach. This didn't bode well.
Bob stared at me for a long moment before his eyes narrowed again, and his cheeks flushed. "You--" He stopped himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath that he didn't really need. "Perhaps an object lesson would be better. Have you ever tried to squeeze your entire body into a footlocker?"
I shook my head, the feeling in the pit of my stomach getting worse. "I didn't know..."
Bob shot me a disgusted look. "I wasn't finished, Harry, though by your reaction, I'll assume you have at some point in your life. Pretend that you've been wedged in there, and then someone locks the door. No one can hear you, no one can see you. And no matter how hard you push, you can't get out."
In middle school, I'd been the weird, skinny kid that the jocks liked to pick on. So, sure, I'd been shoved inside a locker or two. I knew what being in a cramped space felt like, light shining through the seams the door made, the air getting hot and muggy. Not only did I barely have room to push, I had to wait until the jocks had left the hallway before I could make my escape. And despite all that, I'd been lucky. Panic makes great fuel for blowing doors off hinges.
Bob didn't have that luxury. He hadn't had the luxury of freedom for hundreds of years.
I stared at him mutely.
"The next time," Bob growled, closing the distance between us and puffing up like an angry cat, "that you feel the need to trap me in my skull, you'd better have a better reason than because I saved your bloody life."
Bizarrely enough, Bob getting angry again was the best thing that had happened during this whole conversation.
"I don't agree with you not telling me about my uncle, Bob. I can't." I met his eyes. "But, I'm not going to leave you in there again. And if I have to order you in again -- if someone's about to barge in while we're talking, or if someone's about to discover the lab -- I won't lock you in."
Even as I said it, I knew myself well enough to know that this wasn't going to be a one-time thing. I can get pretty stupid when I'm angry, and this had been an object lesson. "If I'm just being angry and petty, and I order you to your skull... is there any way I can make sure you can get back out?"
Bob's anger bled out of him slowly, but he still looked sour. "Don't include anything about time limits," he snapped. "My curse works on much the same principles as wording does with any deals made with the Sidhe."
"So how do I word this?" I asked.
Bob closed his eyes, but I could see his jaw twitch. "Harry, you're overthinking it. Order me in the skull."
I balked. "Are you sure?"
Bob opened his eyes to glare at me. "Yes."
I frowned -- and then I figured it out. The curse was literal. The less I said, the better. I still took a breath, hoping this worked the way I wanted it to. "Get in your skull, Bob."
He glared at me while the fizzing, fiery mote swirled around him with a cloud of black smoke, and sank into one of the skull's eyesockets. A few seconds after I'd issued the command, the mote flew out of the eyesocket, swirled around a spot close to the skull, and revealed Bob, looking not quite as peevish as before. "I've spent nearly eight hundred years learning the ins and outs of my curse, Harry. Do give me some credit."
"Of course, Bob." If this were any other time, I probably would've felt sheepish, but I was just relieved. I grinned at him, and then cleared my throat. "So, uh, I've got a project I'm working on, using kinetic energy to punch somebody's lights out. Wanna help me flesh it out?"
Bob shot me a sheepish look before he blinked. "Harry, punching someone's lights out and blasting them with a wave of pure kinetic force are two different things. You could have been a bit more specific earlier." Even as he complained, I could see a smile making an appearance.
"I would've figured it was obvious," I said, a little hurt. "Usually, I don't have to spell out these kinds of things." After a few years of hanging out together, I would've thought we'd started thinking like each other.
Bob had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "You'll forgive me if I was a bit more concerned about being banished again."
I winced. "I did apologize for that, didn't I?"
Bob nodded. "Yes, you did." He shook his head, looking over the formula he'd left fizzing in the air. "For a moment there, I'd completely forgotten that you didn't know the entirety of the curse."
"The curse?" I asked curiously, watching him ponder the formula before rubbing out a sigil with a thumb and replacing it with an inverted thorn.
"Hmm, yes," Bob said absently. He was already deep in formula revision already. "At its most basic, the curse forces obedience to the owner of my skull, and if I attempt to ignore or directly go against the restrictions of the curse, I'm punished accordingly."
"Punished?" I stopped looking at the bright orange formula hovering in mid-air, and looked at Bob's back.
"It's not nearly as bad as you think, Harry," Bob said fondly, even though he wasn't looking at me. "I've had a few centuries to figure out the limits of the curse to ensure I didn't suffer the punishment. The last time I willingly broke it was a few decades after my execution."
Intellectually, I'd known that Bob's curse was something along those lines. He'd gone over what a geas was when I was younger, and I knew that there were negative aspects to Bob's curse in particular. Part of me had always just hoped that the only bad part had been that he was bound to his skull for eternity, and that he had to obey his master. Silly me.
"What did you mean when you said the entirety of your curse?" I asked. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like the answer, but I still had to ask. I had a habit of picking at scabs.
"When I was first cursed, the Council took a 'spare the rod, spoil the child' approach, thinking that continued punishment would force me to see the error of my ways. As a result, they only entrusted me with the most 'forthright and responsible' wizards on the Council who would keep an eye on me. To ensure I didn't try to betray or manipulate any given master, my master can activate the geas to punish me as he or she sees fit." Bob looked over the formula again and switched two sigils around. "The pain is rather difficult to describe."
I don't know what bothered me more -- the fact that someone had forced Bob to suffer because they thought they needed to beat the evil out of him, or that he sounded like he was teaching me about something harmless.
"So, when was the last time a master decided to punish you?" I asked, keeping my voice calm despite the lump in my throat.
Bob kept working. "March of 1942," he answered, still concentrating on the formula.
How many masters had he had who'd been 'forthright and responsible'? How many of them tortured Bob's soul to show how righteous they were? How long had Bob been in pain, and I hadn't done anything about it?
I wanted to hit something. Or more specifically, someone. Lots of someones. I wanted the wizards who had done this to Bob to pay. I didn't care that they were already dead and gone, allowed to have the eternal rest that they'd denied the man that I loved. I wanted to find them, and I wanted them to suffer.
The anger was starting to melt away, replaced by a calm that I only dimly recognized, a calm that centered me when I wanted to lay waste to anything and everything I could lay my hands on.
As I watched, Bob's hand stopped in mid-air, and then he turned look at me over his shoulder. "Harry?" He watched me for a long moment, and must have realized what he'd just told me. "Harry."
"What kind of sick assholes would do that to somebody?" I demanded. "No, never mind, if the Council that executed you is anything like the Council today, I don't even have to ask."
"Harry," Bob said, turning away completely from the formula to look at me. "It's over and done with. Leave it be."
"Leave it be?" I repeated, my throat starting to hurt. "Leave it be? How many masters got their rocks off on torturing you?"
"How many more simply shut me in my skull for decades at a time until they needed my knowledge and experience?" Bob asked mildly.
I flinched back as if Bob had smacked me physically. "I said I was sorry, Bob. How many more times do I have to say it before you believe me?"
Bob stopped, and then sighed. "You don't need to apologize anymore. I..." He shook his head. "Harry, you must realize, I haven't physically touched anything or anyone in nearly a thousand years. Any kind of physical sensory input, even intended as a punishment, is preferable to being reminded that I have no physical body. Whatever senses I can still exercise are dependent entirely upon my master's sense of goodwill."
"Are you telling me that you'd rather be in pain than kept in your own skull?" I asked slowly. My jaw was aching because I was clenching my teeth so hard. "Do you know how fucked up that sounds?"
"No more 'fucked up' than the atrocities I've witnessed, or have been a part of," Bob said firmly, staring me in the eye.
"I swear by my power, I will never use the curse to harm you." It was out before I even had a chance to think about it, but I knew that I wouldn't have it any other way.
Bob's eyes widened. "Harry--"
I shook my head firmly. "It's already done."
He sighed. "You didn't need to do that."
"What if I wanted to?" I asked.
I wanted to swear to him that I'd never hurt him again, that if it were in my power, that he'd never be hurt again, period. Somewhere, deep down, I had a big, stupid urge to go to my knees and tell him that I loved him, and that I'd do everything possible so that he'd never be in pain again.
But I've had practice with these big sweeping declarations threatening to escape. Mentally, I crammed the trumpets and the ticker-tape parade of my feelings into the very small box next to my heart. During my years on the road, I'd learned how to use those emotions.
Bob looked at me almost sadly. "Oh, Harry..."
I looked at him, well and truly looked at him. It was like meeting him again for the first time. I'd known him for more than twenty years, and I'd never known any of this about him -- the strength to endure torture and hold on to who he was, the courage to face down a friend who could hurt him...
It was like falling in love all over again, but deeper, with my eyes wide open about the kind of man I knew. I'm a sucker for damsels in distress, and while Bob wasn't pleading a knight in shining armor for rescue from an evil dragon, he'd sure as hell gotten one.
I could live with that.
I tore my eyes away from him and picked up my notes and the stubby pencil again. "Okay, Bob, you saw the spell. Now, since I want to bind it into a ring, how much is that going to change the formula?"
Bob mercifully took the cue to change the subject, and turned back to the formula he'd been tweaking. "It shouldn't require revising at all. See, the pentacle here allows for..."
END
To start from the beginning, this way to Desperate Measures.
This way to the prequel, Vignette - The First Confrontation.
This way to the sequel, Vignette - The First Meeting of Minds.
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
PAIRING: Harry/Bob UST
WORD COUNT: 5,889
RATING: PG-13?
WARNINGS: Harry's still in love with Bob?
SUMMARY: It's been a month since Harry and Bob had their fight, and Bob hasn't been around...
PRAISE BE: A warm fuzzy blankie of thank you goes out to
shiplizard, who produced a good chunk of dialogue, and allowed me to rewrite and revise as needed. And another warm fuzzy blankie of thank you goes out to beachkid for beta-reading, encouragement, and questions. I wouldn't have been able to make it without their patience and awesomeness. Thank you, guys!AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is part of the Forged series, which starts with Desperate Measures. You might want to read that first to understand what's going on.
***
It took me about a week to get over being pissed off. It took me a few more weeks to work up the courage to do something about it.
Bob and I have had arguments before, but there had been unspoken lines that neither of us were supposed to cross. My father had always been a sensitive subject for me, ever since I was a kid, and Bob had known that. I was still pissed off that Bob had gone that low, but now that I had had time to really think things over, it was possible that he felt like he'd been attacked first.
Bob had known for centuries that the High Council didn't, and still doesn't, trust him. The most powerful wizards in the world could bind him with multiple spells that would force him to tell the truth, and the wizards on the High Council would just assume that he'd find a way around them. Stars and stones, a couple of the spells that bound him already forced cooperation with the owner of the skull, if not outright obedience, and those functioned on the same principle, if my conversations with Bob were anything to go by. The Merlin was of the opinion that once a wizard turned to the black, there was no hope for them. I guess a few centuries isn't long enough to change some people's minds. It was just funny to think that, all this time, the Council was actually overestimating Bob's abilities to circumvent spells.
During the week that I'd taken to try to calm down, I'd finally settled into my new home, unpacking boxes and arranging the furniture in my office to encourage customers to come to me with their problems -- a few chairs in front of my desk, which was already starting to get cluttered with appointments and knickknacks I was unpacking, some homey touches to make it seem less intimidating. The physical work did me good, and I had to admit that maybe Ebenezar had a point about hard work being good for the soul. It had certainly given me time to think over things.
First, I realized I had to make the first move in mending the rift. Bob hadn't shown up at any time to offer color commentary while I was unpacking or rearranging things, so it was possible that he was still sulking about the fight. It was a bit strange because his usual mode of operations was to hang around and needle me, not to leave me alone completely. Maybe he was pissed about me ordering him into his skull. It had been the first time I'd ever done it, though I'd witnessed Justin doing it a couple times when I was younger.
I had to admit that I was a little embarrassed about the fight, too. The only time he'd ever seriously yelled at me was when I was thirteen, and I was about to blow myself up with a potion by accident. And I still remember that dressing down to this day. This fight was... different.
I attacked him, plain and simple. I was out for blood, and I got it. When he started yelling at me, and going after my father, my best defense had been to order him into his skull, just like Justin would whenever I eavesdropped on fights the two of them had. And considering what I knew now about my uncle, it made me sick to my stomach that I might be turning into him.
It felt kind of stupid to apologize without offering an olive branch of some kind, though. If I needed his help with a project, or advice about the consulting business, it'd be easier to slip in an apology about ordering him into his skull without that being the only reason to talk to him. What can I say? It's a guy thing.
Ironically enough, thinking of an olive branch was actually a problem. There hadn't been anything big enough to need his advice on. Most of the stuff I'd been doing to pay the bills had been fairly simple -- setting up wards for the superstitious, finding lost wedding rings, small stuff. Sure, there was the usual amount of people calling to ask if I was for real, but it went with the territory, and I wouldn't need Bob's advice on that either, since I could come up with responses on my own. So, unless I came to Bob with something complex, asking for help on a tracking spell was going to look pretty pathetic.
The idea hit me, almost literally, when someone tried to mug me. In hindsight, he really hadn't been much of a threat. I don't know what the guy was thinking, trying to take me on, since I was a foot taller than him and about fifty pounds heavier, but the fact remained that the guy had gotten in one solid punch, and I'd remembered thinking that if I'd had time to prep a spell, I could've laid him out flat.
It took some time to figure out the basic formula, but after staring down six lines of sigils, I had a feeling that I was missing something.
It was the perfect olive branch.
I opened the door to the lab, my notes in hand, and made sure to light some candles with a muttered spell. The lab used to be an interior office, when the owner showed me around, but since I'd already decided that I'd convert the front room into the office, I'd ended up seizing the opportunity to create the perfect secret lab, all for the low cost of a steel-reinforced door and enough paint so that the casual observer would think there was just more wall.
The lab was simple enough in design. There were tables along the walls of the room, except for a few cabinets and shelving units that took up most of the wall opposite the door. A long worktable sat squarely in the middle of the room, already crowded with books, experiments, and things that I'd left out that I'd used for jobs recently. The ring of copper bolted into the floor was a few feet away from that, and I'd made it a habit to keep it clear, just in case.
Bob's skull was right where I'd left it yesterday, serving as a paperweight for one of the tomes I'd been consulting.
"Bob," I said, setting the notes down and glancing at the skull before looking for a fresh pencil. "Up and at 'em. C'mon, I need your help."
The glowing ember of light flowed out of one of the skull's eyesockets before swirling in tight circles a few feet away, revealing Bob wearing a dark blue suit. He was standing stiffly, his hands held behind his back, his face looking straight forward. "How may I be of assistance?" he asked promptly.
That was... different. I frowned, but kept going as if nothing was wrong. "Uh, yeah. I've got a project I just started, and I wanted your input."
"What is the nature of the project?" Bob asked. I noticed that he stopped himself from saying something further. I also noticed that he didn't look me in the eye.
This was getting weirder by the minute. "I want for a way to transmit lots of force," I explained. "Y'know, collect stray magic and turn it into kinetic energy on my command. Like super-charged brass knuckles."
Bob didn't react. Hell, he didn't even blink, and for a guy who still went through the motions of being mortal, that was noticeable. "What input do you wish for me to give?" he asked, his voice still blank.
I frowned again. "I've started some of the work already," I said, putting the notes down and spreading them out so that he could read them. "I know that there's something I'm missing, but I don't know what it is."
Bob broke from his Imperial guardsmen impression to walk over to the notes and read them, keeping his hands firmly behind his back. I saw his eyes narrow a little, but other than that, it was looking like a statue. It was starting to creep me out.
And while my brain was processing what was so creepy about this situation, my mouth was on auto-pilot. "So, what do you think? Is this going to work well, or should I go back to the drawing board?"
Bob hummed a little, not even looking at me.
"Bob?" I asked.
"The core of the project has merit," Bob murmured, still looking at the notes. "Though perhaps it can be... refined?"
Ordinarily, when Bob's speaking in that kind of tone, parts of me sit up and take notice. But this time around, it felt... off, somehow. "I'm all about refining. What've you got?"
"The ankh here allows the energy to gather and then the rod pushes outward, but perhaps if the two were reversed, it would allow for a smoother gathering..."
And it kept going on like that for about ten minutes. Lots of "perhaps" and "maybe" and hedging his bets, and at the same time, a lot less of his usual lecturing. When he got to the third line of the formula, I mentally smacked my forehead with my palm. The way Bob was going, there were four sigils that didn't even need to be there in the first place, and were actually getting in the way of what the spell was trying to do.
"Bob?"
Bob stopped, and straightened, looking at me with a respectful, blank look on his face. I'm still trying to figure out how he did it. "Yes?"
I pointed a finger at the sigils I'd zeroed in on in the previous line. "Those don't need to be in there, do they?"
Bob blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"These here," I said, tapping the paper. "With the way the spell's going, they're just clutter. How come you didn't just say so in the first place?" Because there was no way in hell that Bob hadn't noticed those sigils, and with all of his tentative suggestions about how to possibly refine the formula, I'd only just figured it out.
Bob looked at the text again, and nodded slowly. "You're quite right, my apologies." Even though he looked blank, there was something about him that got my attention, and not in the usual pleasant wistfully-in-love sort of way. "Shall I assume that you wish to remove them from the equation entirely?"
"Wouldn't it be more efficient to take them out?" I asked, a bit surprised by the question. Had this been any other lesson, he would've taken them out without thinking about it.
"I would think so, yes," he said mildly, "but, of course, it's--"
"--only a suggestion," I cut in before he could finish the sentence. "Yeah, I get it." I looked at the notes again. "Okay, so, these are out." I picked up one of my stubby pencils and scratched through the four sigils. "Now, what else is there?" I looked over the formula again, and noticed a pentacle. "Should I take this out, too?"
Bob, who'd been looking over my shoulder, visibly paused for a moment. "You're certainly free to do so."
If Bob hedging his bets hadn't clued me in that I was about to do something boneheaded, it was the fact that pentacles did one of two things: they either kept stuff in or kept stuff out. If I wanted to concentrate energy into one big burst, I would need something similar energy-gathering-wise in order to make it work. I nearly smacked my forehead, but I stopped myself.
Bob was hedging his bets. He was saying "perhaps" and "maybe" like he wasn't sure what he was doing. During this whole conversation, he hadn't once said "no" to me. I was about to do something that would make the spell fall apart, and he hadn't stopped me.
I looked over my shoulder, his face not too far away from mine. If I'd been ten years younger, I would've been sweating and wondering if he knew, if he could tell how I felt just by looking at me. Now, I was watching him, taking in his pale skin, his blue-green eyes, his white hair.
I could have gone one of two ways with this. I could have called him on it then and there, asking why he didn't say anything about it. Or I could have played dumb, try to push his buttons. Get him to react.
Playing dumb is easy for me, and you know how the ones you love always look beautiful when they're angry? Bob looks downright sexy.
"Y'know, what if I draw in potential energy, and then amplify it, and then spit it back out as kinetic energy?" I asked, my stubby pencil still in my hand. One of the things that Bob had taught me was the law of the conservation of energy. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only changed from one form or another. Sure, wizards have access to magic, but magic still obeys the laws of physics to a certain extent, and smart wizards are quick to learn that and use it to their advantage. What I was proposing would've been stupid at best.
Since I already knew this, I was waiting for Bob to remind me of it.
And he didn't. He'd gone back to looking at my scribbled notes, and didn't look up.
"Well," I kept going, as if there hadn't been an awkward pause. "How about something that works like the shield bracelet? The shield projects a wall of force, right? So, project a wall of force, and keep going." Another stupid idea. The shield produces a strong, but brittle circle of force. Trying to attack with it would have defeated the purpose of the shield in the first place, since it would have shattered almost immediately.
Bob finally turned from the notes on the lab table to stare at me as if I'd grown a second head. "Did you never listen when I was teaching you?" he snapped with a note of despair.
I blinked, a bit surprised at the volume. Part of me wanted to start grinning and shout, There you are!
Bob suddenly stopped, his pale skin going paler -- which I hadn't thought possible. And then he visibly tensed, right in front of my eyes.
"That was inappropriate of me," he said in a low, hurried tone, his eyes glancing down at the lab table before meeting mine again. "I can promise you, it will not happen again."
"Bob?" I blinked. He'd done a lot worse when I was a kid, and I wasn't listening. "Don't stop now. We're getting somewhere. What'm I wrong about?"
Bob stared at me, his blue-green eyes narrowing. He still shook with tension, but now there was a confused light in his eyes. "If I were to hazard a criticism, I might venture that your suggestions were ill-advised, but not wholly wrong." He pressed his lips together quickly.
"'Ill-advised'?" I frowned. "Bob, they were downright stupid. You just implied as much. Now, let's go back to the formula. Should I throw it out and start fresh, or is there a way to fix it?" From where I was standing, if I didn't get this project right, it was a disaster waiting to happen at just the wrong time. The best thing to do at this point would be to chuck it, at least until I had more of a grasp of what was going on. Bob's hedging and "suggestions" weren't helping fix things.
Still, Bob did like to wax pedantic. Once he got on a roll, I'd probably be able to figure out how to save the project and figure out what was going on with him.
Bob frowned at me before clearing his throat. "I have your permission to speak freely, then?"
Dammit, it was one step forward and two steps back with him. "Please," I almost growled. I didn't mean to, but the yes-man act was starting to wear thin. And to be honest, it was also starting to scare the hell out of me. I mean, did this always happen to Bob whenever a new master took over his skull? Was this the curse's doing? After what felt like a couple million years in here, I still wasn't any closer to figuring out why I was suddenly persona non grata with my mentor.
Bob startled, but recovered quickly enough. He looked over my calculations again, and started copying them, the designs burning cheerful and bright in the air in front of him. He looked like he was about to mutter something under his breath, but his lips pressed together in a thin line, and he worked in eerie silence. When the formula was finished, he looked up and squinted at the sigils. "If you would, please remind me what the specific intended effect is for this working again?"
"Magical brass knuckles, Bob," I prompted. "It collects stray magic and stores it. When I give the word, all the stored energy turns into kinetic energy and explodes out towards whatever I'm pointing at."
Bob paused in his perusal of the sigils, and I saw him fight not to look at me. He then took two very pointed steps to the right, turned on his heel, and then quickly sketched out a formula that was three lines shorter, and included some sigils I hadn't seen before. When he was finished, he stepped back from the formula so that I could see it and looked at me blankly. "This formula will be more effective," he said simply.
I looked at him, and then up at the formula he'd sketched out, zeroing in on the first sigil I didn't know. "What's this one?" I pointed at it, careful not to touch it, or the rest of the formula. "I've never seen it before."
Since I'd managed to crack Bob's good-servant facade earlier, I'd been hoping for an eye-roll, one of his looks that spoke volumes about how hopeless I was, and a nice long explanation. What I got instead was much shorter.
Bob looked at the sigil. "This sigil draws on a naturally occurring energy, and in conjunction with the asp, alters it. In this case specifically, the asp draws on naturally occurring kinetic energy -- human beings move their arms out of habit when they walk -- and changes that energy into potential energy, which is stored inside the vessel."
"Kinetic energy?" I winced. One of Bob's favorite lessons was work smarter, not harder. Potential and kinetic energy worked together like push and pull. When kinetic energy runs out, it becomes potential, and when potential energy moves, it's kinetic. So, why overcomplicate things by trying to collect a lot of magic from the surroundings when I can just save up little bits of energy whenever I move my own body. All I would have to do is wear the ring when I go out for a jog, or even do some yoga, and I was set for the next time someone tried to mug me. Simple. "Dammit. I'm an idiot."
Bob didn't share the smile, nor did he look annoyed at me for having forgotten something so simple. He just... kept looking blank. "If I may, previous masters have forgotten basic concepts of magical theory. If it is your wish, I can double-check your work to ensure efficiency." His eyes focused on mine intensely.
"I'm more in the market for a teacher than a proofreader," I said. "You up for it?"
Bob's lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes continued to stare into mine. "What... areas would you wish instruction in?"
In some of the fantasies I haven't completely gotten out of my head, this conversation would've been headed toward a lot fewer clothes and my bedroom upstairs. Instead, I felt my heart sink in my chest. For all the effort I was putting into it, I wasn't getting through to him. We were in the same room, but for all the effort I was putting in, Bob was further away than the moon. "How about we take a break?" I suggested. My voice sounded almost as tired as I felt. "Come back to it tomorrow?"
Bob's eyes narrowed at me, but he only asked, "Have I your permission to remain outside of my skull?"
I couldn't stop myself from wincing. This whole project was supposed to be one big olive branch so that we could put the fight behind us. Even if I'd messed up the being friends with him part somehow, I couldn't leave without apologizing to him. "Bob, look... about what I said. I was out of line, and I was treating you like you were the enemy."
"I'm sorry?" Bob said politely, arching his eyebrows.
I sighed. It figured he'd want to get as much out of an apology as he could. "I'm sorry for not trusting you, and I'm sorry for being pissed off and taking it out on you. Ordering you in your skull wasn't the best way to deal with it, and it's not like you have a defense against that kind of thing." I breathed in deeply and let out a sigh. "I'm sorry."
Bob frowned, watching me closely. "You have no need to apologize to me."
I frowned back at him. "Bob, I called you a powerless liar, and I ordered you in your skull when you brought up my dad because I couldn't take it. If that's not reason enough for apologizing, I don't know what is."
Bob paused, but then spoke slowly. "I realize that due to your recent acquisition of my skull, it's possible you are unaware of the entirety of my servitude to you, Wizard Dresden. I am your humble and loyal servant, until such a time as you meet your demise, or you see fit to destroy my vessel. You have no need to apologize to me because I serve you. As dictated by my sentence, whatever the owner of my skull deems is appropriate punishment should be used without hesitation."
"Bullshit."
Bob blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I said bullshit, Bob, and I meant it," I said. "You're not a servant, you're not an interactive grimoire, you're my friend, and I did something really shitty that I shouldn't have. Yeah, I was upset about what you said about my dad, and I'm sorry for sticking you in your skull instead of just walking away, but you could've talked to me about it, y'know."
Bob blinked, and then he glanced at his skull, and back at me again, his eyes narrowing. "You didn't know what you were doing, did you? When you ordered me into my skull a month ago?"
"I was ordering you to get in your skull?" I said tentatively. I could feel something tightening in my stomach. This didn't bode well.
Bob stared at me for a long moment before his eyes narrowed again, and his cheeks flushed. "You--" He stopped himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath that he didn't really need. "Perhaps an object lesson would be better. Have you ever tried to squeeze your entire body into a footlocker?"
I shook my head, the feeling in the pit of my stomach getting worse. "I didn't know..."
Bob shot me a disgusted look. "I wasn't finished, Harry, though by your reaction, I'll assume you have at some point in your life. Pretend that you've been wedged in there, and then someone locks the door. No one can hear you, no one can see you. And no matter how hard you push, you can't get out."
In middle school, I'd been the weird, skinny kid that the jocks liked to pick on. So, sure, I'd been shoved inside a locker or two. I knew what being in a cramped space felt like, light shining through the seams the door made, the air getting hot and muggy. Not only did I barely have room to push, I had to wait until the jocks had left the hallway before I could make my escape. And despite all that, I'd been lucky. Panic makes great fuel for blowing doors off hinges.
Bob didn't have that luxury. He hadn't had the luxury of freedom for hundreds of years.
I stared at him mutely.
"The next time," Bob growled, closing the distance between us and puffing up like an angry cat, "that you feel the need to trap me in my skull, you'd better have a better reason than because I saved your bloody life."
Bizarrely enough, Bob getting angry again was the best thing that had happened during this whole conversation.
"I don't agree with you not telling me about my uncle, Bob. I can't." I met his eyes. "But, I'm not going to leave you in there again. And if I have to order you in again -- if someone's about to barge in while we're talking, or if someone's about to discover the lab -- I won't lock you in."
Even as I said it, I knew myself well enough to know that this wasn't going to be a one-time thing. I can get pretty stupid when I'm angry, and this had been an object lesson. "If I'm just being angry and petty, and I order you to your skull... is there any way I can make sure you can get back out?"
Bob's anger bled out of him slowly, but he still looked sour. "Don't include anything about time limits," he snapped. "My curse works on much the same principles as wording does with any deals made with the Sidhe."
"So how do I word this?" I asked.
Bob closed his eyes, but I could see his jaw twitch. "Harry, you're overthinking it. Order me in the skull."
I balked. "Are you sure?"
Bob opened his eyes to glare at me. "Yes."
I frowned -- and then I figured it out. The curse was literal. The less I said, the better. I still took a breath, hoping this worked the way I wanted it to. "Get in your skull, Bob."
He glared at me while the fizzing, fiery mote swirled around him with a cloud of black smoke, and sank into one of the skull's eyesockets. A few seconds after I'd issued the command, the mote flew out of the eyesocket, swirled around a spot close to the skull, and revealed Bob, looking not quite as peevish as before. "I've spent nearly eight hundred years learning the ins and outs of my curse, Harry. Do give me some credit."
"Of course, Bob." If this were any other time, I probably would've felt sheepish, but I was just relieved. I grinned at him, and then cleared my throat. "So, uh, I've got a project I'm working on, using kinetic energy to punch somebody's lights out. Wanna help me flesh it out?"
Bob shot me a sheepish look before he blinked. "Harry, punching someone's lights out and blasting them with a wave of pure kinetic force are two different things. You could have been a bit more specific earlier." Even as he complained, I could see a smile making an appearance.
"I would've figured it was obvious," I said, a little hurt. "Usually, I don't have to spell out these kinds of things." After a few years of hanging out together, I would've thought we'd started thinking like each other.
Bob had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "You'll forgive me if I was a bit more concerned about being banished again."
I winced. "I did apologize for that, didn't I?"
Bob nodded. "Yes, you did." He shook his head, looking over the formula he'd left fizzing in the air. "For a moment there, I'd completely forgotten that you didn't know the entirety of the curse."
"The curse?" I asked curiously, watching him ponder the formula before rubbing out a sigil with a thumb and replacing it with an inverted thorn.
"Hmm, yes," Bob said absently. He was already deep in formula revision already. "At its most basic, the curse forces obedience to the owner of my skull, and if I attempt to ignore or directly go against the restrictions of the curse, I'm punished accordingly."
"Punished?" I stopped looking at the bright orange formula hovering in mid-air, and looked at Bob's back.
"It's not nearly as bad as you think, Harry," Bob said fondly, even though he wasn't looking at me. "I've had a few centuries to figure out the limits of the curse to ensure I didn't suffer the punishment. The last time I willingly broke it was a few decades after my execution."
Intellectually, I'd known that Bob's curse was something along those lines. He'd gone over what a geas was when I was younger, and I knew that there were negative aspects to Bob's curse in particular. Part of me had always just hoped that the only bad part had been that he was bound to his skull for eternity, and that he had to obey his master. Silly me.
"What did you mean when you said the entirety of your curse?" I asked. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like the answer, but I still had to ask. I had a habit of picking at scabs.
"When I was first cursed, the Council took a 'spare the rod, spoil the child' approach, thinking that continued punishment would force me to see the error of my ways. As a result, they only entrusted me with the most 'forthright and responsible' wizards on the Council who would keep an eye on me. To ensure I didn't try to betray or manipulate any given master, my master can activate the geas to punish me as he or she sees fit." Bob looked over the formula again and switched two sigils around. "The pain is rather difficult to describe."
I don't know what bothered me more -- the fact that someone had forced Bob to suffer because they thought they needed to beat the evil out of him, or that he sounded like he was teaching me about something harmless.
"So, when was the last time a master decided to punish you?" I asked, keeping my voice calm despite the lump in my throat.
Bob kept working. "March of 1942," he answered, still concentrating on the formula.
How many masters had he had who'd been 'forthright and responsible'? How many of them tortured Bob's soul to show how righteous they were? How long had Bob been in pain, and I hadn't done anything about it?
I wanted to hit something. Or more specifically, someone. Lots of someones. I wanted the wizards who had done this to Bob to pay. I didn't care that they were already dead and gone, allowed to have the eternal rest that they'd denied the man that I loved. I wanted to find them, and I wanted them to suffer.
The anger was starting to melt away, replaced by a calm that I only dimly recognized, a calm that centered me when I wanted to lay waste to anything and everything I could lay my hands on.
As I watched, Bob's hand stopped in mid-air, and then he turned look at me over his shoulder. "Harry?" He watched me for a long moment, and must have realized what he'd just told me. "Harry."
"What kind of sick assholes would do that to somebody?" I demanded. "No, never mind, if the Council that executed you is anything like the Council today, I don't even have to ask."
"Harry," Bob said, turning away completely from the formula to look at me. "It's over and done with. Leave it be."
"Leave it be?" I repeated, my throat starting to hurt. "Leave it be? How many masters got their rocks off on torturing you?"
"How many more simply shut me in my skull for decades at a time until they needed my knowledge and experience?" Bob asked mildly.
I flinched back as if Bob had smacked me physically. "I said I was sorry, Bob. How many more times do I have to say it before you believe me?"
Bob stopped, and then sighed. "You don't need to apologize anymore. I..." He shook his head. "Harry, you must realize, I haven't physically touched anything or anyone in nearly a thousand years. Any kind of physical sensory input, even intended as a punishment, is preferable to being reminded that I have no physical body. Whatever senses I can still exercise are dependent entirely upon my master's sense of goodwill."
"Are you telling me that you'd rather be in pain than kept in your own skull?" I asked slowly. My jaw was aching because I was clenching my teeth so hard. "Do you know how fucked up that sounds?"
"No more 'fucked up' than the atrocities I've witnessed, or have been a part of," Bob said firmly, staring me in the eye.
"I swear by my power, I will never use the curse to harm you." It was out before I even had a chance to think about it, but I knew that I wouldn't have it any other way.
Bob's eyes widened. "Harry--"
I shook my head firmly. "It's already done."
He sighed. "You didn't need to do that."
"What if I wanted to?" I asked.
I wanted to swear to him that I'd never hurt him again, that if it were in my power, that he'd never be hurt again, period. Somewhere, deep down, I had a big, stupid urge to go to my knees and tell him that I loved him, and that I'd do everything possible so that he'd never be in pain again.
But I've had practice with these big sweeping declarations threatening to escape. Mentally, I crammed the trumpets and the ticker-tape parade of my feelings into the very small box next to my heart. During my years on the road, I'd learned how to use those emotions.
Bob looked at me almost sadly. "Oh, Harry..."
I looked at him, well and truly looked at him. It was like meeting him again for the first time. I'd known him for more than twenty years, and I'd never known any of this about him -- the strength to endure torture and hold on to who he was, the courage to face down a friend who could hurt him...
It was like falling in love all over again, but deeper, with my eyes wide open about the kind of man I knew. I'm a sucker for damsels in distress, and while Bob wasn't pleading a knight in shining armor for rescue from an evil dragon, he'd sure as hell gotten one.
I could live with that.
I tore my eyes away from him and picked up my notes and the stubby pencil again. "Okay, Bob, you saw the spell. Now, since I want to bind it into a ring, how much is that going to change the formula?"
Bob mercifully took the cue to change the subject, and turned back to the formula he'd been tweaking. "It shouldn't require revising at all. See, the pentacle here allows for..."
END
To start from the beginning, this way to Desperate Measures.
This way to the prequel, Vignette - The First Confrontation.
This way to the sequel, Vignette - The First Meeting of Minds.
