I wrote this for two reasons: One, I wanted to incorporate Book!Bob's personality with TV!Bob's character, and two, it really bugged me that Bob was so easy to steal. This is my first Dresden fic, and fic here, so please R/R. Cheers!
Weavings
Missing Scene/Alternate POV - "What About Bob?"
It was unfair.
Bob let out an irritated sigh as he listened to the sounds coming from upstairs. Harry had ordered Bob to stay inside his skull until the girl had left.
"Ungrateful wretch," Bob thought. "After all I taught him, after practically raising him, this is how I am repaid. It wasn't like I wasn't discreet. She had no idea I was there." He paused in his mental rant. The look on Harry's face last night when he finally noticed Bob hovering in the corner of the bedroom had been a study in emotional range. Ecstasy had quickly turned to shock, which moved on to panic, and then charged right along to anger.
Later, there had been a lecture about respecting privacy, a warning about being seen by a member of the non-magical community, and finally, Bob's subsequent banishment to the first floor during all of Harry's...recreational activities.
A loud scream brought Bob's attention back to the present. He realized he wasn't sure if that had been Harry or the girl.
It was so unfair.
Dawn came hours later. Even though the morning's light hadn't penetrated the flat's interior, Bob could sense the sun's rising. Even after centuries of confinement, he still marveled at this ability. The curse laid upon him by the High Council had rendered his senses of taste, smell, and touch useless, but there had been unexpected compensations. Knowing the exact position of the sun, moon, and various constellations was only one. He was also able to morph himself into the shape of a person or creature, when provided with a sample of their essence. Bob had to admit that while it was one of he odder things he could do now, it also had come in handy when helping Harry solve his cases. Consequently, Bob now had the dubious distinction of having experienced the form of a werewolf, a larvae incubus, and a little old lady named Ethel, who had had the worst fashion sense in Bob's memory. And that was saying something.
The girl was still here. The sounds had stopped some hours ago, and now Bob wished he could assume his human form if for no other reason than to be able to pace or drum his fingers. Without any interesting noises to distract him, Bob turned his mind to a problem that had been bothering him for some time now. Something was in the wind, and he didn't need any extra senses to figure that out. Centuries of experience coupled with a talent for spotting patterns was enough.
For the past few months cases had been coming Harry's way that seem tailor made to get him involved. First there was the case of the orphaned boy, born with the gift, then other cases involving female victims. Cases that either mirrored Harry's past, or took advantage of his strong chivalrous streak. Each testing Harry, and pushing him to his limits. If there was someone behind these cases it would have to be someone who knew Harry's greatest weaknesses. Bob mentally frowned. Only two people knew Harry that well: himself and Justin Morningway, Harry's uncle.Harry's dead uncle. Supposedly dead uncle. Bob had witnessed his former master's death himself, but lately there had been whispers, eddies in the tides of the ether that only the dead could feel.
"Was it possible?" Bob wondered. More than any of the wizards Bob had served, Morningway had been the most relentless, the most obsessive of Bob's knowledge and experience of the dark magic, necromancy.
No, he decided. Justin Morningway was dead. Dead and buried, his soul passed on. He was no longer a threat. After all, not even Bob had ever worked out how a dead sorcerer could resurrect himself.
The sound of creaking bedsprings broke Bob's chain of thought. Light footsteps, and the delicate sound of fabric against bare skin followed as the girl quietly got dressed. Bob indulged in the sight of the girl gingerly walking down the stairs. "Harry sure knows how to pick them," he thought as he watched her bend over to pick up her bag. She approached the table where his skull had been placed, and Bob couldn't help but admire the way her hips moved back and forth as she walked. Mesmerized, he didn't noticed the scarf she took out of bag until she had begun to cover the eye sockets of his skull with it.
Panicking, Bob tried to materialize, but was stopped cold by a strong barrier. He tried again, but he still couldn't leave his skull. This wasn't Harry's order stopping him. That had been overridden he moment Bob sensed the danger to himself and Harry. No, this was something else– a ward worked into the fabric of the scarf. Bob had the distinct notion that he had seen this style of spell before.
He was getting weaker. The ward was sapping his strength. "Definitely knows how to pick them," was Bob's last thought before everything went silent and dark.
There it is. Let me know what you thought.