Interlude:
She stepped out of the Nevernever into an alley in Los Angeles. She had never been there, but some things hold true of any large city, and she knew a way to find money.
She left the alley, dressed in the jeans and scrub top that she'd grabbed at the hospital— the jeans were actually hers, or, rather, they were the property of the person who'd used to live here. The scrub top she'd taken since she hadn't found a blouse in the closet with the jeans and underwear that had been there. The hospital had maybe had to cut off the top the body had been wearing on admittance…?
No matter. She had clothes, and needed money. That would only take a few moments….
She found a small park a few blocks off, and sat down under a tree there. She started the spell she had in mind with pure visualization, frowned after a moment, sighed, and gave in. She did it was a circle, even made it a full-on diagram— and when she broke the circle, the magic held in it started away immediately, moving at about the pace of a brisk walk.
Twenty minutes later, she found herself next to a trashcan on a side street off of downtown LA. She frowned, checked the feeling she got from her magic, then dropped to her knees. She looked under the trashcan, saw a gleam of gold, and slid her hand under. (Such small hands— such a small body overall! But she was very pretty, which was nice, and could be very useful.)
She straightened up, palming the money clip easily, not stopping to count it here. Instead, she found a small restaurant, ordered a drink and a meal, and went to the bathroom to count the money in a stall.
Most of the money crammed into the money clip she'd found magically was hundreds, with a couple of fifties and a lone twenty on the outside. She had over two thousand dollars, here. That would be enough for a start.
She ate, paid, left a generous tip, and went shopping. Four hours later, she paid a man a thousand dollars for a simple ID— it wouldn't stand up to police examination, but she didn't need it to. After getting the ID, she boarded a bus for Las Vegas.
The next night, she won over two hundred thousand dollars in cash at a small, more-than-slightly questionable casino, one that would pay out a relatively small jackpot like hers, and use the good publicity to fleece more suckers. Of course, they'd never let her back in the casino again, but she didn't mind— she had business elsewhere.
Las Vegas was a good city for her next step— anywhere with that much money also had a great deal of crime. It took her very little time to find the upscale equivalent of the man who'd sold her the ID that she'd used when filling out tax forms at the casino. He listened to her clear, concise description of what she required of him, looked at her oddly, and said, "If you take a random last name, it's a lot cheaper, you know."
"I need the last name I gave you," she replied. She cocked her head a little, then added, "I can take any non-wrong-ethnicity first name, if that helps. I mean, I don't think I'd make a very convincing Beatriz, or Indira— but any Anglo-Saxon first name will do."
"Okay, that may bring down the price some," the forger said, nodding. "Can I ask— why the fixation on the last name?"
"There is… a man out there, a man who has…." She trailed off for a moment, then shook her head. "Let's just say that I owe him. And I want him to know exactly who's doing the paying. That means the last name I gave you, that's all."
The forger accepted that— and fifty thousand dollars— and gave her what she asked for.
Harry:
I drove to the address John Marcone had given me, and thought about why it was new to me. I figured that Marcone would move offices regularly, and present it to the public as wanting to be close to whatever project was currently most in the public eye. But my bet on the real reason was so that the criminal scum who almost certainly wanted to kill him wouldn't be sure to find him.
Don't get me wrong— there are things about "Gentleman" John Marcone that I respect— it's just that I never let myself forget that he's criminal scum. Oh, I can be surprised into forgetting for a couple of minutes, like when he asked my daughter's name at our last meeting, but that never lasts for long. He's a criminal, he hurts people for a living— or at least that's part of what he does.
I told Buffy what I'd learned from Murphy over the weekend, and what I intended to do about it. She turned a little in the seat to face me, and asked, "How do I help?"
"Marcone knows I want to stay off the radar for a while, and he can be trusted to help on that— he has a soft spot for kids, and he knows I'm a dad nowadays," I told her. "That means that his usual two guards won't be present, because one is a freaking valkyrie, and has ties to the magical community, and the other is a gorilla with a crush on the valkyrie, who'd tell her to get on her good side.
"That means that whatever bodyguards he has will be unknown quantities— but probably good, Buffy. Don't go thinking they're just mooks— Marcone wouldn't use men who didn't have the applicable skills as bodyguards.
"That being said— I'm hoping you can keep them busy while I… explain the error of his ways to Marcone."
"I'm pretty sure that I can handle that," Buffy said, nodding and smirking. "No serious beatings for the goons, I'm guessing?"
"Not unless you have to," I said, and snickered. "I can't imagine you having to."
"Why thank you, kind sir."
"You are quite welcome, dangerous lady."
She laughed, thumped me lightly on the arm, and we rode the rest of the way in silence.
Marcone was in an unfinished office on the fiftieth story of a high-rise office building that he'd bought and was refurbishing. He had a secretary in the outer office, a tall, busty Asian girl who simply told me to go in as soon as I entered the outer office.
The place he was using had been stripped to girders and steel for the walls, had a plywood floor, and visible electrical conduits and such all over the room. Marcone sat behind a simple sheet-metal desk, his head down over a set of plans. Two large, competent men that I'd never seen before stood next to the windows at parade rest, and they both had the lean, hard muscle of soldiers. I glanced at Buffy as we went in, and she nodded just a little, telling me that she was sure she could handle them.
We stopped in front of the desk, and I cleared my throat. Marcone looked up, let go of the plans he was looking at, allowing them to roll closed, and looked speculatively at Buffy.
"This would be your employee, then," he said in a level voice, though his eyes moved over Buffy, cataloguing her as he did everyone and everything he looked at. "Won't you introduce us?"
"John Marcone, crime lord, this is Elizabeth Sinclair, private detective and friend," I said, my voice level and calm. "Elizabeth, vice versa."
"Hiya," Buffy said with a little wave.
"A pleasure, Miss Sinclair," Marcone said. He studied her for a moment, then said, "I'm sure you hear this a great deal, but you bear a strong resemblance to—"
"Sarah Michelle Prinze, yeah," Buffy said with a heavy sigh.
"You are a good deal more attractive, if it's any consolation," Marcone said, smiling at her.
"Thanks— that I could stand to hear more often."
Marcone laughed dutifully, then his eyes turned to me, and he held out a piece of paper that he took from his breast pocket. "Here you are, Dresden. The name you requested— and an address, though I'm afraid it's in Serbia.
"I have made certain that those of my employees who helped expedite the gentleman's visit and the work that he did know that they are not to do such ever again."
"Thanks, I guess." I took the paper, looked at the name and address, shoved the paper in my duster pocket, and looked up. "Now, there's another matter we need to discuss, John— right now."
"And that would be?" Marcone said, a sigh escaping him.
"Last October, Karrin Murphy and Will Borden came to you for information about Will's missing and pregnant wife," I said, my voice less even, now starting to sound a little angry— which was fine, because I was a lot more than just a little angry. "Will was pretty damned upset at the time, and I happen to think he had a right to be— don't you?"
Marcone's face had gone blank, and his faded-money-green eyes were watching me very carefully now. His goons stepped forward, and he didn't tell them to step back, so I didn't say anything to Buffy when she stepped forward and said, very coldly, "Don't. I'll hurt you."
One of them snorted in derision, but the other stayed silent, and both stayed where they were for the moment.
"I suppose Mr. Borden might have had reason to be upset, yes," Marcone admitted, his voice frosty cold. "That does not excuse—"
I had my staff in my right hand, so I slapped my right hand down on the desk with a noise like a thunderclap, thanks to the tiny effort of will I sent with it. "You threw a knife at my friend!" I snarled— and I heard a sudden flurry of motion, followed by a violent expulsion of air and rapid-fire series of blows and blocks.
I left things where they were for a moment. Marcone didn't look worried yet— so I waited until Buffy flung the second guard across the room and into the door before I added, "Stabbing my friend was a very, very bad idea, Marcone. Maybe the worst idea you've had lately."
The second guard had recovered the breath that Buffy had knocked out of him, and he was coming at her with one of those extendable police batons in either hand, now. She backed up, not from fear— but so Marcone could see.
I didn't need to look around, I knew that she could take the goon, so I just kept my eyes on Marcone's face as he watched the fight, and watched what I could in the reflection on the window behind Marcone.
Buffy casually blocked every blow that Marcone's bodyguard threw at her, taking the rapid, violent blows from a titanium-steel rod on her hands and arms with no sign of pain at all. Finally, she got bored, and the next time the guard swung the baton in his right hand at her, she blocked his wrist, not the weapon— and everyone there heard the bones break as that baton sailed across the room. I'll give the bodyguard credit— he didn't fold, but kept on trying.
Or at leas, he kept trying until Buffy snatched the other baton out of his hand, snapped it in two, and, while the guard stared in disbelief, laid him out with a side-kick to the jaw.
"That was almost fun," Buffy said as she wandered back to my side. "Maybe next time you could have a half a dozen goombas, Mr. Marcone— that might actually give me a workout."
Marcone didn't answer her, just looked back at me, his face still mostly without emotion— though I could see both anger and a little bit of worry there, now.
"Now that I have your undivided attention," I said, my voice as much growl as speech, "let me explain something to you, Marcone. Something you may not have thought of before now.
"From now on, the moment you hurt any of my friends, no matter how small and trivial the wound, I am coming for you."
Marcone blinked, and I knew that he was listening, now.
"My friends are off limits," I told him, my voice still a growl. "My family is off limits. In fact, John, everyone I know is off limits. If you touch anyone I know again, I am going to put you in a hole so deep you will never get out, because you and I both forgot something, Marcone— but I remembered it, finally."
"What, pray tell, might that be?" Marcone asked, trying very hard to sound bored— and almost making it.
"You're a freeholding lord," I said, giving him a hard, cold smile. "I am a Warden of the White Council. Both of us are signatories to the Unseelie Accords, though me only by proxy, as a member of a signatory group.
"But as a Warden of the White Council, I have the right to take offense at harm done to those under my protection, Marcone— and I have the right, under the Unseelie Accords, to challenge to a duel by the laws of the Code Duello, any member who gives offense to me by harming those under my protection.
"I am still the regional commander of the Wardens for the Eastern half of the United States, Captain Lucciio refuses to replace me— so I have legal grounds, Marcone.
"You don't have a single soul working for you who could take me by the Code, Marcone— and despite your high opinion of yourself, you couldn't either.
"So if you touch anyone I know, anyone I care about, I will be coming for you under the laws you signed onto— and I will end you!"
I snarled those last four words right in his face, and Marcone finally reacted, jerked back from me as though afraid I might bite him.
"In fact," I went on more calmly as I straightened up, "you might want to start thinking about going legit, Marcone— because something else has changed besides me finally remembering the Accords."
"What… might that be?" Marcone asked. He managed to sound calm, though I think I had finally, truly gotten to him.
"When I asked you for help with finding that little girl last October," I said, referring to asking him to help me find Maggie, though he'd had no idea that she was my daughter back then, "you pointed out that there were a lot of threats and problems more pressing than you around here, that I couldn't concern myself with you because of all of the other things around here.
"Well, the extinction of the Red Court? That cleared away a lot of the things above you, Marcone. A whole lot of them. No more war, no more watching my back for Red Court assassins at every turn… that moved you up the ladder a good ways.
"Then comes the thing that moves you even higher up the ladder, John— you're in third place now, maybe second soon, because of one… little… thing."
For a moment, I didn't think he was going to bite. Finally, he licked his lips and asked, "What might that be?"
I looked at the door, saw that it was still tightly shut, glanced at the thugs, saw that they were both still unconscious. Recording or listening devices I didn't worry about at all— there was no way such a comparatively delicate electronic device was going to survive my presence, not when I was angry and letting that anger run free.
"My daughter, Marcone." I gave him my iciest smile. "She lives here, probably will for the rest of her childhood.
"I won't have her living in a town where scum like you operate unchecked. She's going to have better than that.
"Remember that, you son of a bitch."
With that I turned and stalked out of the room, left Marcone sitting there behind his desk with his mouth clamped into a tight white line, and something that I thought was genuine fear— finally!— in his eyes.
I didn't dare take the elevator down, now that I'd let my temper run wild, so Buffy and I took the stairs— and pretty soon she had me sliding down railings after her, both of us laughing like kids.
When we reached Captain Midnight, Buffy stopped me, stepped close, slid her arms around me, and hugged me tightly. I wasn't sure why, but I wasn't about to waste a good hug, so I squeezed back until she let go, at which point she grabbed my lapels, pulled me down some, stood on tiptoe, and kissed my cheek before she let me straighten up.
I looked down at her, pleased but a little confused, and said, "That was nice, thanks— but what was the occasion?"
"Dummy," Buffy said fondly as she shook her head and went around to the passenger's side. "It was because of what you just did, Harry. The things you did for your friends— and especially what you said to that jerk about Maggie and how you wouldn't have her growing up in a bad place.
"You're a hell of a dad, Harry Dresden, and a hell of a guy to boot."
"Thanks," I said as I got in, and tried to fight my blush as I leaned over and unlocked the door for her.
After I got the car into third gear, Buffy took my hand and held it when I didn't need it to shift, and did so all the way back home.
Nifty.
When we got into the office, I sent Buffy off to research the name and address that Marcone had given me— having someone around who could use the internet wasn't just handy, it was becoming sort of addictive— and then I had a thought.
"Hang on a second, Buffy," I called from my office door. She turned and raised an eyebrow, and I said, "Before you get online, would you run upstairs and measure the Scythe?"
"Uh, sure," Buffy agreed looking confused. "But… why?"
"I'm going to go out and buy something you can carry it in," I said, and saw understanding dawn. "Even in Serbia, they don't like people carrying deadly weapons in the open. Or, at least not edged ones. And if this guy was working for something on the supernatural end of things, well… I may want you to want the Scythe."
Buffy chuckled and went upstairs. When she came back down, she had the measurements for me, and I left her to the internet while I went to a nearby pawnshop.
I told the clerk— who was old enough and confident enough that he was probably the owner— that I needed a case of some sort that would easily hold something the size of the measurements I gave him. In pretty short order, we found a rectangular case for a tenor saxophone that would do, with one small modification— I'd have to cut out a bit of the formed plastic meant to hold the neck of the instrument, but I could do that. If Xander got home before we left, he could do it even more prettily, and would do so cheerfully— he loved to be of any sort of help he could to Buffy, even to me.
I told the pawnshop guy I'd take the sax case— then found myself wandering the section of the shop where he kept his musical instruments, looking at the guitars. One of them caught my eye, held it, and pretty much wouldn't let go. It had a beautiful look to it, and I could tell, somehow— I think some sort of bleedover from my magical senses— that it had been lovingly maintained and cared for.
"That's a nice one, isn't it?" the clerk asked, smiling a little himself. "It was made in the fifties, but you'd never know it to look at it— one owner, and he took care of it, you can tell." He gave a sort of bitter laugh and said, "When the old fella died, his grandson got the guitar, and he sold it to me— no appreciation for something like that, he was just glad I gave him two hundred for it."
"You sort of robbed him, didn't you?" I asked, and smiled to show the man that I understood the urge to rob an idiot who couldn't appreciate a guitar like this one.
"Yeah, I really did," the man said, and grinned at the memory. "If he'd been patient enough to learn about this baby, to put it up on eBay, he'd have got fifteen hundred easy, maybe twenty-five hundred, even."
"How much you want for it?" I asked, trying not to sound as eager as I was.
"You appreciate it," the clerk said, and looked back and forth between me and the guitar. "I can see that much— and I don't need to screw over anybody who can appreciate a fine instrument like this. Five hundred, and she's yours— case and all."
"Ring me up," I said, and let him case the guitar and hand it to me.
I went back to the office, found Xander standing in the door of Buffy's office and talking to her, and asked him about adapting the sax case to the Scythe. With a nod from Buffy, he agreed, but he didn't go right away.
"I forgot that you were learning to play guitar in the books," Xander said. He looked at my face and saw… I don't know what, but when he spoke again, he sounded as though he were trying to be comforting. "Play something?"
"I don't know, it's been… a long time," I said, and tried not to sigh.
"Come on, Harry," Buffy said, and she got up and headed for the little lobby. "I'd like to hear it, too."
I sighed, nodded, and went to sit in one of the chairs there. I took the guitar out, carefully, and Buffy let out a little sound of appreciation while Xander said, "Now that's just pretty."
"Yeah," I agreed, settling in and plucking one string at a time. It was almost in tune, and I got it all the way there in under a minute.
I started playing, not really thinking about what to play— and got one of the four songs that every guy I know who's over a certain age and plays guitar learns to play, which are; "Proud Mary," "House of the Rising Sun," "Hotel California," and the one I played— "Dust in the Wind," by a seventies rock group called Kansas.
I played, and I got lost in it, forgot that Xander and Buffy were there, didn't notice when Murphy came in. Next thing I knew of anything other than the world of me and the guitar, I was getting cramps in my hands from not having played in so long that playing for any length of time was too hard on my muscles.
"My god, Harry," Murphy said, staring at me with a new kind of appreciation. "That was gorgeous!"
"Ditto," Xander agreed, nodding almost frantically.
"Very," Buffy said, and sighed contentedly. "What was it you played after 'Dust in the Wind?' "
"It… doesn't have a title," I said, smiling a sad little smile. "Or… well. I think it has to be called 'Lash,' if I'm gonna call it anything."
"I never knew you'd gotten so good, Harry," Karrin said, looking pleasantly stunned. "That was— well, that sounded like professional playing to me."
"And again, I say, 'ditto,' Harry," Xander agreed.
"And Buffy makes three," Buffy said. She sighed, stood and stretched, then said, "Okay, back to the research— but you, sir, need to do whatever exercises there are to help you be able to play longer without your hands going all 'Caine Mutiny' on you."
"Yeah," I said, taking a deep breath. Playing had felt good, until my hands started protesting. "Yeah, I think I will.
"Hey, Murphy— how's your case going?"
"All wrapped up," she said with a satisfied nod. "You got something?"
"Oh, just the name of the man who actually, you know, shot me last October." I smiled at her immediate predatory look— it's nice to have friends like Murphy— and added, "And an address for him, which, unfortunately is in Belgrade, Serbia. Buffy's seeing what she can find about the guy online, and I thought, after supper, I might go see him. Of course, if you'd like to come along in spite of the fact that we'll be entering Serbia illegally, carrying weapons illegally, threatening to beat this guy stupid illegally, if he doesn't tell us who paid him to kill me— which was also illegal, come to think of it— well, I'll be shocked, you being a former police officer and all."
"Be shocked," Murphy growled (and her growl was scarier than that of many large, scary men that I know— Karrin's pretty amazing). "Marcone came through?"
"He did," I agreed— and I showed her my teeth. "He also came to understand just how badly things are going to go for him the next time he gives one of my friends so much as a paper cut."
"Good," Murphy said, and settled back in her chair. "You can save telling me about that conversation until I'm in a bad mood— it's sure to cheer me up."
I snorted, nodded, and put away my guitar, then took the case into my office and left it there, since I didn't want to go up the stairs or bother with Enenezar's "tech-safe" spell right then. Karrin had gone to see what Buffy was doing, and to help, so I sat down in my office and opened the book I was reading— the first in a fantasy series called the Codex Alera, a book called Furies of Calderone. I was maybe halfway through it, and already planning to read the rest of the series. Good stuff.
I got maybe ten more pages read before someone rapped on the frame of my office door. I looked up to see Xander leaning in the open doorway, and waved him in.
"Hey, Harry," Xander said, stepping in and hesitating. "Could I… well, can I close the door? There's something I want to talk to you about."
"Sure, come on in," I said, and set my book down on its face. (I read my books, I don't preserve them for future generations, okay? Bookmarks are for sissies.) "What's on your mind, man?"
"It's about—" Xander stopped, looked at the open book face down on my desk, turned his head to make reading the title easier (sideways is easier than upside down), then busted out laughing, a full-scale belly laugh, no starting with chuckles and working up— just straight to the big, boisterous belly laugh.
"What?" I asked. "Come on, share!"
"Okay, well— I don't know if I should, Harry." Xander had dropped into a chair across from me, and now he was obviously trying to get himself under control. "Seriously, I don't know— I mean— look, will you promise that if I explain, you won't do anything about what I tell you without getting permission from Karrin, Buffy and… oh, let's add Michael to the mix. You don't do anything about what I tell you unless all three agree. Okay?"
"Well… okay." I wasn't sure about that, but I really wanted to know what was so funny.
"That book— you enjoying it?" He indicated Furies of Calderone.
"Sure, it's a blast," I said, smiling a little. "Right down my alley, too— the lead character is the only one around who can't do magic. I appreciate the irony."
"That's… that's good," Xander said, starting to laugh again. "I'm glad you like it, Harry, because— because…!"
Xander dissolved into laughter again, and I considered slapping him once, like he was having hysterics— but I am the soul of patience, and I waited it out.
(And if you believe that "soul of patience thing, I have some oceanfront property in Iowa that you're gonna love. Small bills, and non-sequential serial numbers only, please!)
"I'm sorry," Xander gasped finally. "I'm sorry, Harry— it's just that the books I read? The books about you?"
"Yes?" I said when he stopped.
"That book is by the same author!"
I stared at Xander for a moment.
I looked down at Furies of Calderone. The author's name was Jim Butcher.
"You sure?" I asked.
"Totally." Xander reached for the book, looked at me for permission, and I nodded. He picked it up, flipped to the last couple of pages inside the back cover, found the "about the author" section and read it. "And that makes dead certainty. Same blurb, same guy."
I sat and I thought about that for a moment— and decided that I approved. Hell, the guy knew how to write, and he had me entertained with that book— no bad there.
"Okay, that's a little… odd, but I can deal," I said, and nodded. "But that wasn't what you wanted to talk to me about, obviously.
"So what is on your mind, Xander?"
"It's… about Buffy," Xander said, his face becoming serious, but not so serious as to be scary.
"What about her?" I prompted when he didn't go on.
"She's… well, Harry, she's been my best friend for thirteen years, you know?" he said, looking at me like that should explain something to me.
"I… hadn't thought about it that way, honestly," I admitted. "With the time jumps in the comic books and then all the things you did after that we never even read about… but, okay. That's a long time, man— and I think you're pretty lucky, but then, so is she."
Xander shot me a grin at that, sat up a little straighter, and said, "Thanks. That's… high praise.
"But anyway… I've known Buffy for something that's approaching half my life, Harry," he went on, his voice slow and careful, as though he didn't want to say anything wrong, or the wrong way. "I know her, Harry, really, really well— so I need to say something to you that… well, let's just say that I may be crossing lines, but I don't think so. And if I am, well, it's not like I don't have a good reason."
"What are you talking about, Xander?" I asked, now gone past puzzled and into the land of confusion.
"Buffy," Xander said slowly, "is falling in love with you, Harry."
I stared at him.
He nodded.
I stared some more.
"Oh, come on, Xander, that's… you're imagining things." I shook my head and sighed. "I don't think—"
"No, I knew you wouldn't think so," Xander said, and he sighed and shook his head. "But that's mostly because… Harry, you're a great detective, and a better wizard, but you're kind of a dummy about women.
"No, wait— strike 'kind of.' When it comes to women, you haven't got a clue."
"Hey!" I protested. "Now that's hardly fair, I've had girlfriends, I've had relationships, I've even got a daughter, and—"
"Your own brother said you were kind of an idiot about women, Harry," Xander reminded me. "And you eventually almost admitted that he was right."
"Damn it, that's— okay, well, I don't think you're right, not this time." I shook my head. "We're friends, good friends, and she—"
"She's not usually as touchy-feely with her guy-friends as she's been with you for the last couple of weeks," Xander said firmly. "I know. Thirteen years, remember?"
"Well, she's— come on Xander, what could possibly have happened that would lead to her falling in love with me?" I asked, and I was serious, not playing the humble game.
It was Xander's turn to stare for a minute or so. Finally, he shook his head, and said in a slow, wondering tone, "You're dumber than I thought. I can't believe it, but you really are that dumb."
"Hey!" I said, glaring at him. "I'm right here, okay?"
"And you're a dummy," Xander said firmly. He stood up and peered behind me, leaned this way and that. "Shouldn't there be a hand somewhere unmentionable, man?"
"Cut that out!" I said, and gave him a dark look. "What do you mean I'm a dummy?"
"Okay, let me ask you a question," Xander said, sighing and leaning towards me. "Before last New Year's Eve, how many women had you shared a Soulgaze with?"
I didn't have to think— you don't forget that sort of thing. "Five."
He frowned, and I could see him going over a mental list. "Elaine, Susan, Molly, that woman who works for Marcone and…?"
"A lawyer who'd been messed with mentally, when I was trying to help Morgan," I said, sighing at the thought of that poor woman. "I had to 'gaze her to find out who'd messed with her. It was a White Court bitch who's dead now, and she wasn't very careful about it."
"So, she wasn't really sane?" Xander asked. I nodded agreement, and he hesitated, then asked, "Uh, any idea about her sexuality?"
I looked at him really oddly, and he said hastily, "It matters, seriously."
"Pretty sure she was gay," I said, shrugging. "I don't see how—"
"So, let's review, here," Xander said immediately. "The Beckitt woman, the one working for Marcone, she hates your guts and probably isn't exactly a candidate for 'sanest woman in Chicago,' from what you said. True?"
"True enough," I agreed. "I mean, she blames me for losing out on her revenge against Marcone, and for her husband dying in prison. And she admits that she's not very sane."
"And the lawyer woman— gay, and also not really sane, yes?"
"Pretty much," I agreed. "But I don't see what that's got to do with anything."
"When you told us about your hunt for Maggie," Xander said slowly, "you said that both Susan and Murphy told you that Molly was in love with you. I've met Karrin, and she's maybe the sharpest woman I know, at least about not-monsters. From the things that happened in the last book I read, the one that ended up with Molly apprenticed to you, I think that's pretty damned accurate."
"I guess it probably was," I sighed. I shook my head a little. "Doesn't really matter, her and Carlos are an item, now, so she's obviously gotten past it. I don't see what it has to do with—"
"Merciful Zeus, I give up!" Xander near exploded. He stood up, leaned across the desk, and knocked lightly on my forehead. "Hello-oooo? Anybody home?"
"Dammit, Xander, I don't see any—"
"You Soulgaze with Elaine— and you two fall in love," Xander said softly, leaning forward on the desk and staring at my eyebrows to avoid a Soulgaze between us. "You Soulgaze with Susan— and you two become lovers, you eventually ask her to marry you, for Pete's sake. You Soulgaze with Molly, and she falls in love with you. You've known her since she was a little girl, so you've got natural armor there, I get that.
"But of the three sane women you Soulgazed before Buffy, three of them fell in love with you, you blithering idiot— and Buffy is not insane!"
I sat and I stared at him for a long, long moment, before I managed to say a very small, "Oh."
"Yes, 'oh,' thank you!" Xander said, and he dropped back into the chair.
"I'm not saying it would happen with any sane, hetero-or-bi woman whom you Soulgazed, Harry," Xander said softly. "I'm just saying that when the woman is someone you have things in common with, whom you like anyway, and who likes you?
"Then I think there's a really good chance. And it's happening with Buffy, maybe already has happened, and she's just… not realized it yet. She can be as slow as you about this sort of thing.
"Now, I'm gonna be a nosy, interfering best-friend-busybody, and ask you the obvious ques—"
"Yeah," I said, very quietly. "Yeah, I… well. I was trying to avoid thinking about it, because I didn't think… I mean, I'm not all that great a guy, an—"
Both of Xander's hands slammed down on my desk hard enough to startle the hell out of me— he'd leapt to his feet, slammed his hands down, and now had his face a couple of inches from mine.
"Would you shut up with that crap!" he said, his voice pleasant enough, but with a hard edge underneath. "In the eight books I read, you managed to tell me— in the process of telling yourself— how you weren't a good guy, how you were secretly an asshole, how some deep part of you wanted to be powerful, wanted to take the easy road, wanted to just kill all your enemies and scare the rest of the world into treating you nicely.
"That is bullshit, Harry! You're no saint, I get it— but you're a goddamned hero, a man with a conscience and a heart that's so big it's always getting you in trouble.
"Sure, you sometimes wish you could take the easy way out, you wish you could just wipe your enemies out and be done with it, sometimes you want the power to just force the world to straighten up and fly right! Well, guess what!
"So do I! So does Buffy! So does Dawn! So does your grandfather, so does Michael— it's a part of being human!
"The important part, Harry, the part that you never learned— and maybe it's good that you didn't, that you have this obsession with doing the right thing, but maybe it's time that you did learn, dammit!— is that that's not a sign that you're a bad guy, not any of it!
"It's a sign that you're a human being, man! That's all! It just means that you're as human as the rest of us.
"But that you worry about it, that you've faced all you have and never taken up the evil power, that you've walked away from hexenwolf belts that were made to be addictive, that you turned down the power of the winter knight until it was literally the only thing that could let you save your daughter, that you had the shadow of a fallen freaking angel in your head for four years, and you never took up that coin that held the rest of her, even when you thought you were going to die if you didn't? All of those things mean that you're a hell of a good man!
"We won't even talk about the incredible power of personality, of sheer conviction that caused the sentient copy of a fallen angel to turn back to the light after just four years of living in your head— and never mind the eons of promoting darkness that said fallen angel remembered before she took up residence in your head!
"Dammit, Harry, I'm not even gay, and I'm afraid to get into a Soulgaze with you for fear of finding out I'm bisexual all of the sudden!"
For a long moment, I could only sit there with my mouth open—
Then that last comment sank in— and all I could do was bust out laughing.
Xander joined me in that laughter right away, and we laughed for a good ten minutes before we finally managed to stop.
