12 Days of Fanfic: "The Dresden Files" -- "Moving Pictures"
One of the fics I wrote because I wanted to see it written and because I love the deep brotherly love between Harry and Thomas...
On the Fifth Day of Christmas, the Matrix Refugee fanficced for ye:
Harry Dresden for the holidays,
Frank Sweitz adopting a David unit,
One Chateau Christmas party,
One American Gods fic,
and An A.I. fic with David decorating his first Christmas tree.
"Moving Pictures"
by "Matrix Refugee"
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me, I'm just playing in the universe and shying snowballs at Jim Butcher's fanfic-phobic rules-lawyers.
Author's Note: One of these days I will write a Dresden Files fic that isn't set at the holidays, but this one begged to be written. Christmas is a time for families to be together and I thought I'd show a certain generally snarky wizard enjoying some family time with what family he has. I've also combined elements of the TV series with the book continuity; don't shoot me: I found both about the same time, so my heart likes to weave the two together. Mild spoilers for "Blood Rites" and "It's My Birthday, Too."
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Christmas time tends to bring with it a small rush of nit-picky cases, but at this time of the year, every little bit counts: a young guy needed me to track down a very expensive diamond ring he was planning to surprise his girl with, and several missing persons cases came up, including a kid who disappeared on Christmas Eve from a shopping mall and had fallen into the hands of some pissed-off kobolds hiding in the tunnels underneath the mall. Molly invited me to join the Carpenters for dinner the next day; I accepted, but at that moment, I wanted to just go home, mix some of McCoy's special egg nog and crash for a bit on the couch after a long day pounding the pavement.
By the time I got back to the office and my apartment above it, the strings of lights were glowing in the windows of the shops and apartments around it. The wreath I'd hung on the door looked crooked but festive, and the string of old-style bulbs I'd strung up in the window the day before winked on as I approached, letting me know Thomas had come home. I just hoped he hadn't brought a date home with him.
I entered to find him on the couch, talking on the phone in Japanese. I cringed, hoping he wasn't running up the phone bill again, though he'd gotten better about paying his share of the bills. He'd brought in a small balsam which stood propped up in one corner, and he'd even dug out the one box of lights and garland that I'd stuffed in one corner of the storage closet. Bob stood glaring at the tree in mild annoyance.
"I have never understood the reason for lopping off an entire tree and then weighing it down in electric lights and strips of gilt," he said. "Some tasteful branches of pine and fir and sprigs of holly should suffice."
"Aw, don't be a Scrooge, Bob," I said. I glanced at Thomas, then looked to Bob. "How long has he been on the phone?"
"Only for a half an hour," Bob said.
"Did they call or did he?" I asked, lowering my voice.
"They called and whoever they are, they are clearly either a friend or a family member: I cannot make out a word of what they say, but Thomas's body language does not hint of a suitor," Bob said, with a hint of annoyed disappointment. Nothing for him to eavesdrop on.
At length, Thomas hung up the phone and unwound from the couch. "Sorry, a member of the family called long distance: my half-nephew in Tokyo. I'm one of the few relatives he puts up with," he said. "He's on the fringe of the clan, mostly because his mother, my older sister, married a mortal."
I was not about to ask more, given the twistiness of Thomas's family tree.
I dug around in the ice box, finding a few eggs and a quart of milk, then dug in the cabinet for the container of nutmeg. I set to work mixing them in a pitcher.
"Hey, Thomas," I called.
"Hey what?" he called back, propping the tree in a wastebasket.
"Do I want to know what Christmas was like growing up at the Chateau Raith?" I asked.
"Pretty much the kind of Christmas every kid dreams of: every toy and game you put on your list to Santa, but Disney wasn't going to use the place as a location to shoot 'Babes in Toyland', unless they'd decided to open a branch in the adult film industry," he said, with a wry smirk.
"Ugh," I groaned, turning back to mixing the egg nog. "Bad mental images there."
"Yeah, they're probably pretty close to the reality, too," Thomas said, setting to work detangling a string of lights and starting to drape it on the branches. "Generally we spent Christmas either here in the city or at one of the resorts that the family owns, but the Christmases I remember the best are the ones we spent here." His eyes started to mist over just a bit, but he quickly snapped out of that. "What about you?"
"Me, I had Christmases that ranged everything from unwrapping cheap but thoughtful presents in a hotel room when I was touring with my dad, to not having much of a Christmas while I was in the orphanage I'd wound up in after he died, to the stiff affairs at my uncle Justin's manor here in the city."
Thomas paused with a handful of tinsel in his hand. "Wait, your uncle was Justin Morningway, right? Mom's half-brother?"
"Yeah, why?" I replied.
"His house was about three doors down from where I grew up," Thomas said. It dawned on me that this was yet another reason my mother ran from Raith: to put as much distance as she could between not just her and the King of the White Court, but also herself and her brother.
"Geez, we were practically neighbors, not that it's easy to tell, given the size of the grounds around the houses in that part of town," I said.
He gave me one of his easy smiles -- not that kind of smile, he's my brother. "Don't make too much of it: it's not like it's the kind of neighborhood where people who own the houses actually live or let their kids play in the yards: it would lower the property values."
"That's true," I said. "Hey, you got any plans for tomorrow?"
"I'm supposed to put in an appearance at the family homestead, why? Did you have something in mind?" Thomas asked.
"Molly invited me to join the Carpenters for Christmas dinner," I said.
"I'd go with you, but I get the feeling that Charity and Michael would think I have less than honorable intentions toward their daughter," Thomas said.
"Which you don't. Tell me you haven't made any plans to do anything with Molly when she turns eighteen," I said.
"Ahh, but the girl is at an age when she has started to conceive some not so noble intentions toward Thomas," Bob cut in.
"She can look at me and drool over me all she wants: I have no more interest in her than if she were my niece," Thomas said, glaring at Bob.
I rummaged on the shelves, looking for the bottle of bourbon; I remember I'd left it in the lab -- don't laugh, I've used it in a few potions, and working with Molly, I sometimes need it to steady my nerves when she's really screwed up a potion. I started for the lab, but Bob blocked my path; not that he can really stop me, but the thought of walking through him makes my skin crawl.
"I beg to differ with you, Harry: you cannot go in there," Bob said.
"Why not? It's my lab," I said, trying to step around him, but of course he phased right into my path. "Hrothbart of Bainbridge, I command you to step aside and let me pass."
Bob let out an annoyed sigh and moved aside for me. "As long as you don't mind having your Christmas present spoiled," he said, as I stepped past him and opened the semi-concealed door to the lab. The moment he let that slip, I stopped in my tracks and turned, finding Thomas had joined us in the small hallway.
"Hey, Harry, where are you going?" Thomas asked. It finally dawned on me that Thomas had something hidden in the lab.
"Well, it is Christmas Eve, maybe we should go easy on you and let you see it," Thomas said. He stepped back and let me enter the lab.
On a table in the middle of the lab stood an 8mm projector, while in front of one of the bookcases a large screen had been set up. Once we stepped into the room, Thomas hit a switch on the projector which clattered to life. The screen lit up, dimly at first as the lead-in spooled. Then a somewhat herky-jerky image glowed in the darkness, a somewhat out of focus Christmas tree lit with those antique thorny-looking lights (the kind that are wired in series). The camera panned across the room to a tall woman with dark, slightly wavy hair, clad in a red cardigan over a long, sensible black skirt.
She glared into the camera, but her crooked smile didn't leave her beautiful face, a face I'd seen somewhere before. "Hey, Cybelle, put that camera down and help me find where Tommy's gotten himself to now," she said. I realized who this woman was: my mother -- our mother, finding my then three-year old brother hiding behind the tree, his giggle giving him away, then hugging him and grinning at the camera as little Tommy waved. I glanced at Thomas, "Where did you find this?"
"Lara found the films buried in a corner of the attic; it seems my father didn't throw away everything Mom left behind," Thomas explained. I was going to have them transferred to DVD, but we know that Murphyonic field of yours eats electronics."
My only images of my mother -- our mother -- came from a tattered photo of mom that my dad had kept, the memory of her portrait in Raith's gallery, and the brief vision of her which Thomas and I had shared when I had soulgazed him. But this, in some ways, filled the gap she'd left behind. I reached over and squeezed Thomas's shoulder. "Thanks, bro," I said.
Thomas laughed and said, "Don't go all mushy on me, Harry."
On the Fifth Day of Christmas, the Matrix Refugee fanficced for ye:
Harry Dresden for the holidays,
Frank Sweitz adopting a David unit,
One Chateau Christmas party,
One American Gods fic,
and An A.I. fic with David decorating his first Christmas tree.
"Moving Pictures"
by "Matrix Refugee"
Disclaimer: The Dresden Files do not belong to me, I'm just playing in the universe and shying snowballs at Jim Butcher's fanfic-phobic rules-lawyers.
Author's Note: One of these days I will write a Dresden Files fic that isn't set at the holidays, but this one begged to be written. Christmas is a time for families to be together and I thought I'd show a certain generally snarky wizard enjoying some family time with what family he has. I've also combined elements of the TV series with the book continuity; don't shoot me: I found both about the same time, so my heart likes to weave the two together. Mild spoilers for "Blood Rites" and "It's My Birthday, Too."
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Christmas time tends to bring with it a small rush of nit-picky cases, but at this time of the year, every little bit counts: a young guy needed me to track down a very expensive diamond ring he was planning to surprise his girl with, and several missing persons cases came up, including a kid who disappeared on Christmas Eve from a shopping mall and had fallen into the hands of some pissed-off kobolds hiding in the tunnels underneath the mall. Molly invited me to join the Carpenters for dinner the next day; I accepted, but at that moment, I wanted to just go home, mix some of McCoy's special egg nog and crash for a bit on the couch after a long day pounding the pavement.
By the time I got back to the office and my apartment above it, the strings of lights were glowing in the windows of the shops and apartments around it. The wreath I'd hung on the door looked crooked but festive, and the string of old-style bulbs I'd strung up in the window the day before winked on as I approached, letting me know Thomas had come home. I just hoped he hadn't brought a date home with him.
I entered to find him on the couch, talking on the phone in Japanese. I cringed, hoping he wasn't running up the phone bill again, though he'd gotten better about paying his share of the bills. He'd brought in a small balsam which stood propped up in one corner, and he'd even dug out the one box of lights and garland that I'd stuffed in one corner of the storage closet. Bob stood glaring at the tree in mild annoyance.
"I have never understood the reason for lopping off an entire tree and then weighing it down in electric lights and strips of gilt," he said. "Some tasteful branches of pine and fir and sprigs of holly should suffice."
"Aw, don't be a Scrooge, Bob," I said. I glanced at Thomas, then looked to Bob. "How long has he been on the phone?"
"Only for a half an hour," Bob said.
"Did they call or did he?" I asked, lowering my voice.
"They called and whoever they are, they are clearly either a friend or a family member: I cannot make out a word of what they say, but Thomas's body language does not hint of a suitor," Bob said, with a hint of annoyed disappointment. Nothing for him to eavesdrop on.
At length, Thomas hung up the phone and unwound from the couch. "Sorry, a member of the family called long distance: my half-nephew in Tokyo. I'm one of the few relatives he puts up with," he said. "He's on the fringe of the clan, mostly because his mother, my older sister, married a mortal."
I was not about to ask more, given the twistiness of Thomas's family tree.
I dug around in the ice box, finding a few eggs and a quart of milk, then dug in the cabinet for the container of nutmeg. I set to work mixing them in a pitcher.
"Hey, Thomas," I called.
"Hey what?" he called back, propping the tree in a wastebasket.
"Do I want to know what Christmas was like growing up at the Chateau Raith?" I asked.
"Pretty much the kind of Christmas every kid dreams of: every toy and game you put on your list to Santa, but Disney wasn't going to use the place as a location to shoot 'Babes in Toyland', unless they'd decided to open a branch in the adult film industry," he said, with a wry smirk.
"Ugh," I groaned, turning back to mixing the egg nog. "Bad mental images there."
"Yeah, they're probably pretty close to the reality, too," Thomas said, setting to work detangling a string of lights and starting to drape it on the branches. "Generally we spent Christmas either here in the city or at one of the resorts that the family owns, but the Christmases I remember the best are the ones we spent here." His eyes started to mist over just a bit, but he quickly snapped out of that. "What about you?"
"Me, I had Christmases that ranged everything from unwrapping cheap but thoughtful presents in a hotel room when I was touring with my dad, to not having much of a Christmas while I was in the orphanage I'd wound up in after he died, to the stiff affairs at my uncle Justin's manor here in the city."
Thomas paused with a handful of tinsel in his hand. "Wait, your uncle was Justin Morningway, right? Mom's half-brother?"
"Yeah, why?" I replied.
"His house was about three doors down from where I grew up," Thomas said. It dawned on me that this was yet another reason my mother ran from Raith: to put as much distance as she could between not just her and the King of the White Court, but also herself and her brother.
"Geez, we were practically neighbors, not that it's easy to tell, given the size of the grounds around the houses in that part of town," I said.
He gave me one of his easy smiles -- not that kind of smile, he's my brother. "Don't make too much of it: it's not like it's the kind of neighborhood where people who own the houses actually live or let their kids play in the yards: it would lower the property values."
"That's true," I said. "Hey, you got any plans for tomorrow?"
"I'm supposed to put in an appearance at the family homestead, why? Did you have something in mind?" Thomas asked.
"Molly invited me to join the Carpenters for Christmas dinner," I said.
"I'd go with you, but I get the feeling that Charity and Michael would think I have less than honorable intentions toward their daughter," Thomas said.
"Which you don't. Tell me you haven't made any plans to do anything with Molly when she turns eighteen," I said.
"Ahh, but the girl is at an age when she has started to conceive some not so noble intentions toward Thomas," Bob cut in.
"She can look at me and drool over me all she wants: I have no more interest in her than if she were my niece," Thomas said, glaring at Bob.
I rummaged on the shelves, looking for the bottle of bourbon; I remember I'd left it in the lab -- don't laugh, I've used it in a few potions, and working with Molly, I sometimes need it to steady my nerves when she's really screwed up a potion. I started for the lab, but Bob blocked my path; not that he can really stop me, but the thought of walking through him makes my skin crawl.
"I beg to differ with you, Harry: you cannot go in there," Bob said.
"Why not? It's my lab," I said, trying to step around him, but of course he phased right into my path. "Hrothbart of Bainbridge, I command you to step aside and let me pass."
Bob let out an annoyed sigh and moved aside for me. "As long as you don't mind having your Christmas present spoiled," he said, as I stepped past him and opened the semi-concealed door to the lab. The moment he let that slip, I stopped in my tracks and turned, finding Thomas had joined us in the small hallway.
"Hey, Harry, where are you going?" Thomas asked. It finally dawned on me that Thomas had something hidden in the lab.
"Well, it is Christmas Eve, maybe we should go easy on you and let you see it," Thomas said. He stepped back and let me enter the lab.
On a table in the middle of the lab stood an 8mm projector, while in front of one of the bookcases a large screen had been set up. Once we stepped into the room, Thomas hit a switch on the projector which clattered to life. The screen lit up, dimly at first as the lead-in spooled. Then a somewhat herky-jerky image glowed in the darkness, a somewhat out of focus Christmas tree lit with those antique thorny-looking lights (the kind that are wired in series). The camera panned across the room to a tall woman with dark, slightly wavy hair, clad in a red cardigan over a long, sensible black skirt.
She glared into the camera, but her crooked smile didn't leave her beautiful face, a face I'd seen somewhere before. "Hey, Cybelle, put that camera down and help me find where Tommy's gotten himself to now," she said. I realized who this woman was: my mother -- our mother, finding my then three-year old brother hiding behind the tree, his giggle giving him away, then hugging him and grinning at the camera as little Tommy waved. I glanced at Thomas, "Where did you find this?"
"Lara found the films buried in a corner of the attic; it seems my father didn't throw away everything Mom left behind," Thomas explained. I was going to have them transferred to DVD, but we know that Murphyonic field of yours eats electronics."
My only images of my mother -- our mother -- came from a tattered photo of mom that my dad had kept, the memory of her portrait in Raith's gallery, and the brief vision of her which Thomas and I had shared when I had soulgazed him. But this, in some ways, filled the gap she'd left behind. I reached over and squeezed Thomas's shoulder. "Thanks, bro," I said.
Thomas laughed and said, "Don't go all mushy on me, Harry."