Author's Notes: Someone on the skullboylove lj communinity posted this actual headline from a local newspaper: ""Police are investigating the case as a homicide after a man doing yard work at a house in Bainbridge found a human skull." I took the inspiration and ran with it.
Harry Dresden sat slumped against the workroom wall, head down, posture radiating defeat.
"Bob," he called. Silence.
"Bob?" More silence, this one filled with an oddly eloquent aura of disdain.
Harry sighed heavily. "Bob, seriously, are you gonna pout in there all day?"
A cascade of sparkling gold and deepest black poured forth from the old, rune-laden skull that rested on a pile of books on Harry's lab table, producing one very pissed off ghost. The expression on Bob's pale face may as well have been carved from ice; Harry quailed at the very real anger in his dear friend's eyes, which had gone a turbulent storm-cloud blue-grey. The thought struck Harry that he might really have done it this time…he might not be able to wriggle his way out of this one.
"Pout?" Bob broke the tense silence at last with a voice brimming over with incredulity. "Pout? Harry Dresden. In the past four days, I have been carelessly left in a pile of shrubbery, abandoned, virtually helpless, miles away from my home, and I have suffered the final and nigh-insurmountable indignity of having my skull Fed-Ex'd to you by some well-meaning yokel you deigned to call a client. I am angry, yes, and more tired and careworn than I thought it possible to be without a corporeal body, but I most certainly am not, Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, pouting."
Harry winced at the use of his full name, each syllable growled out with such a disturbing amount of menace that Harry was suddenly glad Bob had no connection to his mortal power. As it was, the air around him shimmered a hazy orange-gold, all but quivering with waves of rage. Clearly some damage control was called for, but Harry found himself at a loss for words. He could only stare at the floor, sputtering, attempting an occasional glance up at Bob.
The silence stretched on and Harry gave up on searching for inspiration in the dust bunnies and congealed potions experiments on the floor, opting instead for abject apologies. "Bob. I don't….I can't….I am so sorry. I don't have any good reasons, hell, I don't even have any bad excuses….I just…I'm sorry. I'm so…so sorry." He kept his head bowed, eyes trained somewhere near Bob's feet, and hoped for the best. It was quiet for a while before he heard Bob speak again.
"I know you are, Harry. I know you are." Bob's voice was quieter now, softer, not the same angry growl as before. Harry could hear the ache in it and looked up at last, half-afraid of what he'd see. He was pinned down by Bob's direct, unflinching gaze. The piercing eyes were suspiciously wet and Harry privately thought he could take anything, anything, but that.
"Oh, Bob..." He scrambled to his feet and darted forward, hands and arms fluttering in a helpless parody of a hug. He gave up and settled for resting his hands gently on Bob's skull, gratified when Bob's eyes fell closed. "You know I don't know what I'd do without you, right? I was terrified when I couldn't find your skull." He sighed, tracing gentle fingers over the sigils on Bob's skull. "Let me make it up to you?"
Bob opened one eye, brow quirked quizzically upward. "Oh? And just how do you intend to do that?" Harry was relieved to hear the undercurrent of humour in the familiar voice.
Harry blinked. "Oh. Well, I, uh, I haven't exactly gotten that far yet. I could…hey, I could rent that really sappy movie you never got to see the end of." The corner of Bob's mouth quirked up and Harry went on, encouraged. "Or we could get out more…maybe take a walk in a park that doesn't involve dead werewolves or your skull getting dropped in the bushes while I run for my life? I guess, if I were feeling particularly generous, we could discuss that automatic page tuner in the Sharper Image catalog…"
"Harry. Fed-Ex. I think it behooves you to feel generous." The tone was Bob's dry, sardonic wit at its best, but his blue eyes held a spark of mischief that said everything would be ok in time. Harry broke out with a grin of his own and thanked every lucky star he ever had. "Fine, fine," he said, playing along. "We can talk about it."
"We certainly will. And Harry?"
Yes, Bob?"
"If the offer stands…I believe I'll take you up on that walk in the park. Perhaps after sunset this evening?"
Something in Bob's tone, a vague element of suggestiveness, sent a pleasant tingle up Harry's spine. There was patient, slightly smug expression on Bob's face, as if he could see clearly something Harry hadn't glimpsed yet and was waiting for him to catch up. Harry gulped. "Uh…yeah, sure, Bob. Anything you want." He backed out of the room, throwing curious looks at Bob, who continued to smile at him with mock-innocence.
"Anything?" Bob repeated to himself. "In time, Harry. In time."
And he dissipated back into his skull, content – for now – to wait.