The Dresden Files / Bob / 41. Misunderstood
Title: Epiphany
Author: Cyloran
Fandom : The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters : Bob, Harry
Prompt : 41. Misunderstood
Word Count : 958
Rating : G
Disclaimer : The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Notes : Sequel to Need to Know, because several people asked for one.
Table : Here There be Ghosts
The potion work was going well if a bit too slowly for Harry's tastes.
"Okay, the dried rose petals are in," he announced as brushed the residue from the palm of his hand back into the Tupperware container. "What's next?"
"Sugared fruit." Bob looked up from the parchment spread out upon the opposite end of the worktable. "The more colorful the better."
"Sugared fruit? You sure you're reading that right?" When the ghost arched an imperious eyebrow at him in response, Harry quickly shook his head. "Right, sorry. Not thinking. You probably wrote the damned thing."
"If I had, would I need to consult it like a latter day Julia Child in order to assist you?"
"Good point." He looked down at the gelatinous green liquid in the copper cauldron. "So, sugared fruit. I'm guessing you're not talking about regular apples or oranges." That would be too easy.
"Sugared fruit, also known as candied fruit," Bob advised him. "Colorful, exceedingly sweet, and usually found in recipes for holiday pastries such as fruitcake."
"Fruitcake?" Harry made a sour expression. "No way I've got any of that laying around. Not unless I'm using it as a doorstop. That stuff is gross, Bob."
"Some people consider it quite delicious."
"You, for instance?"
Bob replied with a noncommittal shrug.
"Fruitcake's been around for 800 years?"
"The confection dates back to Roman times."
"Probably the same fruitcake," said Harry derisively. "Bet there's only been one loaf in the history of the world and it just keeps getting passed around and around. Now that's what I call regifting."
"All of which is to say that you do not have any of the required ingredient," Bob concluded.
"Nope. But I think I've got the perfect substitute. Stay right there; I'll be right back."
Bob watched as Harry set aside the wooden spoon he'd been using to stir the mixture and rushed out of the lab on his quest.
"Where else would I go?" he said quietly to the younger wizard's retreating back.
~ ~ ~
The tiny kitchen in Harry's apartment was in a perpetual state of clutter but he knew exactly where everything was - most of the time. It wasn't as if he had the luxury of a steady income and could stock the pantry with a vast variety of food.
Harry flung open the battered wooden door of a cabinet to the left of the sink and began rummaging around inside. A few cans of tuna tumbled out onto the counter with a loud clunk then rolled into the steel sink with an even louder bang.
"Harry?" Bob's distant voice drifted to him from the hidden lab. "Are you alright?"
"Fine!" he called over his shoulder. "Just …oof! …" A box of rice bounced off of his shoulder and thumped to the floor, pin wheeling white grain as it fell. "…making a mess."
It was a perfect opening for one of Bob's classic retorts or an especially snarky remark. Harry paused, his hand on a box of Froot Loops, and waited expectantly. All he heard was the rhythmic ticking of the mantle clock and a heavy silence from the lab.
"Hell's bells," muttered Harry.
Clearly, something was bothering the old spook and had been for weeks. Now that Harry thought about it -- really thought about it - he realized Bob had been surreptitiously distancing himself, volunteering his opinions less frequently and even going so far as to speak only when addressed. It was almost as if the ghost no longer wanted to be in Harry's company. Or believed that Harry no longer wished to have anything to do with him…
Time suddenly stood absolutely still as a single truth was illuminated with a blinding flash of intuition. Some people referred to it as an epiphany. Harry called it a Homer Simpson "D'OH!" moment.
("What would you have done, Harry, if I had retained my mortality?"
"Not a damned thing. Because I’d’ve been dead. The end."
"Yes, of course.")
In that crystalline second of realization, Harry suddenly understood exactly what it was Bob had been asking. The old ghost had been seeking reassurance and maybe a little bit of acceptance, too. But Harry had taken the question literally, not figuratively, and had given the ghost nothing but doubt and apparent rejection.
Harry smacked his forehead with the palm of his head. Idiot!
Bob had been his teacher, his mentor, his confident and his friend since he was a child. The ghost had shielded young Harry from the worst of Justin Morningway's influence and had literally given everything to thwart Morningway's recent plans for High Council domination, thus saving Harry's life.
Ignorance was hardly the best way to repay that sort of selfless love and devotion.
Harry snatched the cereal box from the cabinet and nearly crushed it in his haste to return to the lab.
Bob had not moved a single step, his expression one of thoughtful concentration as he perused the potion instructions laid out before him.
Pausing just inside the doorway, Harry took a deep breath and blurted, "I'd've hugged you."
Looking up from the parchment, Bob blinked at him without comprehension. "I beg your pardon?"
"If you'd survived my uncle and his doppelganger. I mean, you know ... alive. Mortal," Harry explained awkwardly. "I'd've hugged you."
Bob regarded him with an unreadable expression. "Would you so?" he asked softly.
"Yeah." Harry shrugged, not sure what else he could say or how to apologize for being such an ass. "Then I'd've taken you out to Mac's for a beer."
"I would have accepted, and gladly."
"Maybe we will some day."
"Perhaps."
"I'm sorry, Bob."
"Thank you, Harry. As am I." Bob favored him with a gentle smile. "I would have enjoyed the ale and the company." And cherished the hug.
Author: Cyloran
Fandom : The Dresden Files (tv-verse)
Characters : Bob, Harry
Prompt : 41. Misunderstood
Word Count : 958
Rating : G
Disclaimer : The Dresden Files do not belong to me. Just passing through.
Notes : Sequel to Need to Know, because several people asked for one.
Table : Here There be Ghosts
The potion work was going well if a bit too slowly for Harry's tastes.
"Okay, the dried rose petals are in," he announced as brushed the residue from the palm of his hand back into the Tupperware container. "What's next?"
"Sugared fruit." Bob looked up from the parchment spread out upon the opposite end of the worktable. "The more colorful the better."
"Sugared fruit? You sure you're reading that right?" When the ghost arched an imperious eyebrow at him in response, Harry quickly shook his head. "Right, sorry. Not thinking. You probably wrote the damned thing."
"If I had, would I need to consult it like a latter day Julia Child in order to assist you?"
"Good point." He looked down at the gelatinous green liquid in the copper cauldron. "So, sugared fruit. I'm guessing you're not talking about regular apples or oranges." That would be too easy.
"Sugared fruit, also known as candied fruit," Bob advised him. "Colorful, exceedingly sweet, and usually found in recipes for holiday pastries such as fruitcake."
"Fruitcake?" Harry made a sour expression. "No way I've got any of that laying around. Not unless I'm using it as a doorstop. That stuff is gross, Bob."
"Some people consider it quite delicious."
"You, for instance?"
Bob replied with a noncommittal shrug.
"Fruitcake's been around for 800 years?"
"The confection dates back to Roman times."
"Probably the same fruitcake," said Harry derisively. "Bet there's only been one loaf in the history of the world and it just keeps getting passed around and around. Now that's what I call regifting."
"All of which is to say that you do not have any of the required ingredient," Bob concluded.
"Nope. But I think I've got the perfect substitute. Stay right there; I'll be right back."
Bob watched as Harry set aside the wooden spoon he'd been using to stir the mixture and rushed out of the lab on his quest.
"Where else would I go?" he said quietly to the younger wizard's retreating back.
~ ~ ~
The tiny kitchen in Harry's apartment was in a perpetual state of clutter but he knew exactly where everything was - most of the time. It wasn't as if he had the luxury of a steady income and could stock the pantry with a vast variety of food.
Harry flung open the battered wooden door of a cabinet to the left of the sink and began rummaging around inside. A few cans of tuna tumbled out onto the counter with a loud clunk then rolled into the steel sink with an even louder bang.
"Harry?" Bob's distant voice drifted to him from the hidden lab. "Are you alright?"
"Fine!" he called over his shoulder. "Just …oof! …" A box of rice bounced off of his shoulder and thumped to the floor, pin wheeling white grain as it fell. "…making a mess."
It was a perfect opening for one of Bob's classic retorts or an especially snarky remark. Harry paused, his hand on a box of Froot Loops, and waited expectantly. All he heard was the rhythmic ticking of the mantle clock and a heavy silence from the lab.
"Hell's bells," muttered Harry.
Clearly, something was bothering the old spook and had been for weeks. Now that Harry thought about it -- really thought about it - he realized Bob had been surreptitiously distancing himself, volunteering his opinions less frequently and even going so far as to speak only when addressed. It was almost as if the ghost no longer wanted to be in Harry's company. Or believed that Harry no longer wished to have anything to do with him…
Time suddenly stood absolutely still as a single truth was illuminated with a blinding flash of intuition. Some people referred to it as an epiphany. Harry called it a Homer Simpson "D'OH!" moment.
("What would you have done, Harry, if I had retained my mortality?"
"Not a damned thing. Because I’d’ve been dead. The end."
"Yes, of course.")
In that crystalline second of realization, Harry suddenly understood exactly what it was Bob had been asking. The old ghost had been seeking reassurance and maybe a little bit of acceptance, too. But Harry had taken the question literally, not figuratively, and had given the ghost nothing but doubt and apparent rejection.
Harry smacked his forehead with the palm of his head. Idiot!
Bob had been his teacher, his mentor, his confident and his friend since he was a child. The ghost had shielded young Harry from the worst of Justin Morningway's influence and had literally given everything to thwart Morningway's recent plans for High Council domination, thus saving Harry's life.
Ignorance was hardly the best way to repay that sort of selfless love and devotion.
Harry snatched the cereal box from the cabinet and nearly crushed it in his haste to return to the lab.
Bob had not moved a single step, his expression one of thoughtful concentration as he perused the potion instructions laid out before him.
Pausing just inside the doorway, Harry took a deep breath and blurted, "I'd've hugged you."
Looking up from the parchment, Bob blinked at him without comprehension. "I beg your pardon?"
"If you'd survived my uncle and his doppelganger. I mean, you know ... alive. Mortal," Harry explained awkwardly. "I'd've hugged you."
Bob regarded him with an unreadable expression. "Would you so?" he asked softly.
"Yeah." Harry shrugged, not sure what else he could say or how to apologize for being such an ass. "Then I'd've taken you out to Mac's for a beer."
"I would have accepted, and gladly."
"Maybe we will some day."
"Perhaps."
"I'm sorry, Bob."
"Thank you, Harry. As am I." Bob favored him with a gentle smile. "I would have enjoyed the ale and the company." And cherished the hug.