On Immortality, or the Facsimile Thereof.
This is rather rough. It came to me and I wrote it in about half an hour. It's a crossover with the Dresden Files (bookverse) and Heinlein's Future Histories. It isn't in the crossover section because I doubt many would read it there. Spoilers for all the Dresden books and Time Enough for Love. Future fic. Character Death.
Harry sat by her grave and hummed a little song a friend had taught him once.
There's a pawnshop, by the corner,
Why did this one hurt more than the others?
Where I usually hang my overcoat.
It wasn't because she was young. There had been deaths younger than her.
By the pawnshop, there's a hook joint,
It wasn't because she died in battle. Because she hadn't. She'd died of pneumonia.
Where my sister earns her living.
It wasn't because she was alone, because she wasn't. They were all there with her, and he had held her hand and sung to her as she died.
She's a good sport, I can spring her,
It wasn't because she meant more to him, because people he loved had died before. His parents, Susan, Elaine. Well, Elaine wasn't dead exactly, but he'd thought she was.
For a fin or even a sawbuck.
"It's because you watched her grow." A voice came from behind him. He didn't turn around, just kept humming.
When not holding, or the horses have been running rather slowly.
"When you met her she was a child, and now she has a child of her own. You carried her when she was small, and you talked her through her first crush, and you watched her age."
There's a cop around the corner,
"Harry."
I turned and just looked at him.
Who is sometimes, not so friendly,
"Lazarus."
To a man who isn't holding, or otherwise unlucky.
"It will get better. It will always hurt, but it will get better."
So it's well to have a sister, or even an old uncle.
"What are you even doing here?" Harry asked, avoiding the issue. "I thought we fixed that dimensional portal."
"We did."
"And I haven't been near that cursed cooking pot since."
"Cooking pot? Call a cauldron a cauldron, Harry."
They're your friends, boy. Don't neglect them.
"Why are you here?"
"I wanted to visit, and my ship has a new gadget that lets me without any danger of an inter-dimensional rift."
"No, what are you doing here? I'm visiting my friend's grave."
Birthdays, and Yom Kippur, also Christmas and Chanukah.
"Let me guess, you wanted to be alone?"
"Good guess. Piss off."
A card or even candy.
Lazarus didn't leave, he merely began to hum, picking up the tune where Harry left off.
Then, he began to sing.
"There's a mule yard,
On the corner,
Where Dora has her lessons.
By the mule yard,
There's a school house,
Where Dora's friend Buck lives.
There's a trading post,
By the school house,
Where my sister sells candy." He trailed to a stop and sighed.
"Lazarus?"
"Her name was Dora." It was all he needed to say.
"I don't know what to do."
"Live," was the simple response.
"That's the cauldron calling the kettle black." Harry smiled tiredly. The spark of good humour warmed Lazarus' soul. "I seem to remember a certain old man wanting to die."
"Yeah, and I was an idiot. I've had it hammered into me. You're almost as stubborn as me, and not half as smart. It will probably take twice as long for us to get it through to you." He held out a hand and pulled Harry to his feet. "Come on."
Harry gave one last look at the stone marker. It read:
Ivy Archer, Mother of Holly.
RIP 1997-2031
She was not meant to be understood, just loved.
Beneath that there was a small carving of a cat curled up asleep.
"Harry, come on." Lazarus put a hand on his friend's shoulder, and led him away.
I wrote this because Jim Butcher admits to being a Heinlein fan, going so far as to reference him in his books, and I think Lazarus and Harry would get on well. I may write a prequel showing their initial meeting, or add a second chapter to this if there's enough interest.
And yes, Ivy Archer is supposed to be The Archive.
Please let me know what you think.