As Others See

By Jedishampoo

Rating: M overall, this chapter T. Some language, sexuality.

Summary: A magical misfire ends with the wrong Howls in the wrong worlds. Howl's Moving Castle (Movie) crossover with Howl's Moving Castle (book).

Author's Notes: I now have the approval of the betas to post these chapters-- thanks to sakura haru and sharpeslass! Thanks for your patience.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, Diana Wynne Jones or Studio Ghibli does. I'm just playing with them.

x x x

Chapter 9: Last-Minute Clearing Up.

Howl waited. He stood on the rug before the hearth and stared at Calcifer's logs as they pulsed with orange light, forcing himself to keep still as a statue, to not pace or bite a fingernail as he so dearly wished. Perhaps he did not appear as cool and collected as he would have liked, for Lettie took turns watching Howl with a sympathetic gaze and glancing at the mirror. Sophie, her chin in her hands, stared at the sparking little candle.

"What a neat little bit of magic," Michael was saying. He'd turned around a kitchen chair and sat on it with his arms propped over the back. "All of it. I knew Howl could create doors that went to other worlds, physical doors. But the dimensional transporting! If it wasn't for the messed-up spell, you and Howl could just go anywhere! Zip! I wish I could do it."

Howl continued to stare at the slowly-disintegrating logs, only vaguely listening to Michael. He was glad it had appeared easy, that he'd retained some sort of sorcerous stature in the eyes of these people. Mostly, though, his thoughts were concerned with Suliman, and home, and whether or not Suliman could come back any time now and report on Sophie's well-being.

It had been what-- five minutes at least? Surely something had gone wrong, Howl thought, and Suliman was stuck, and they'd have to start all over again. Howl entertained a brief mental picture of all the inhabitants of this world going over to his one by one-- pop!-- until it was filled and he was left here alone.

Michael continued despite the silence. "Maybe Martha and I could visit your world, Howl. See what things are like there, find our counterparts--"

"No," Howl interrupted, looking up. "Believe me, you don't want to."

"He's right, Michael," Sophie said. Howl glanced over at her. It was the first time she'd acknowledged his existence since she'd arrived that morning. "Worlds are one thing. This-- this is just wrong."

Everyone was quiet after that, and so Howl resumed his attitude of contemplation. After only a few more moments he heard a fzzt, one of the loveliest sounds it had ever been his privilege to hear. Suliman stepped through a white-bright portal back into existence.

Howl barely restrained himself from grabbing at Suliman's lapels. "Welcome back. Was he there? Was Sophie there?"

Suliman nodded. "Yes, and yes. There seemed to be a bit of an-- altercation going on, but all is fine now."

Sophie spoke up again. "An altercation?"

Howl, who'd at first breathed a deep sign of relief, held his breath again at this last. A fight? In his house? Unbelievable. "What kind of altercation?"

Suliman's grey eyes shifted to the side, a strangely evasive expression on such a distinguished face, and he held his hands up before him, palms out.. "I'm sure they can tell you all about it in, oh, another twenty minutes or so. Let us know when we get to the five-minute mark, Michael."

"Okay."

"But--" Howl began.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ben," Lettie said. She stood and walked over to touch Suliman's elbow. Her dark eyes slid over to Howl, who was clenching and unclenching his fingers. "You can't not tell us now."

Howl agreed. The room had taken on that yellow, surreal quality again. If Howl had hurt Sophie, then Howl would have to kill him. He hated killing people.

"Everything's all right!" Suliman reiterated, waving his upturned hands for emphasis. He sighed and sat at the table to nurse his tea, likely tepid after his trip. "Sophie was-- she does look very like you, Sophie, except for her hair, an extraordinary color on such a young woman--"

"Ben!" Lettie warned.

"Yes, yes." Suliman looked up at Howl, rather nervously. "Apparently, Sophie was trying to throw Howl out of the house, and me as well. But I explained everything and they're all ready to go. They're fine!"

"Sounds like Howl, all right," Sophie put in, dryly.

"Throw him out?" Howl said, flabbergasted. "Sophie wouldn't do such a thing without a very good reason. What did he do to her?"

"They didn't say. It seemed to be merely some sort of misunderstanding."

Howl clenched and unclenched his fists some more, unable to think. He felt small, warm fingers grasp his elbow gently, and whipped around. It was Sophie. She was looking up at him with unreadable but not unkind brown eyes.

"Howl, come with me for a minute, please," she said in a flat, quiet voice, and tugged at his arm. "I'd like to speak with you in private."

Howl didn't know what else to do at the moment except follow her. He nodded and Sophie led them down the entryway stairs, turned the knob to yellow, and opened the door. It was a sunlit flower field, pretty and serene in exactly the way Howl didn't feel at the moment.

They took a few silent steps away from the castle door, which here was set in a small shack not unlike Howl's uncle's cottage. Howl breathed deeply of the scented air, trying to release his nervous hostility. Sophie had probably merely discovered the other Howl's deception, if indeed he had deceived her, and was asserting herself by throwing the man out of the castle. Howl could respect that. He breathed again, a great surreptitious gulp of air. He was going home soon, and perhaps he would attach himself to Sophie's side and follow her about until she grew absolutely sick of him, and even perhaps after that. It could be rather exciting.

Well, exciting until he was arrested for murder, that was.

Howl halted when Sophie did. She turned and touched his elbow again, then crossed her arms against the light but chilly breezes. Her long hair swirled about her brown dress; she'd not even grabbed her cloak. Howl took off the black jacket and handed it to her silently. She slid her arms into it and stood there, looking down at the yellowing grass under their feet.

Howl waited for her to speak while the seconds ticked by in his brain. Finally, Sophie looked up and met his eyes. "I just wanted to tell you. Whatever happens, I'll take care of it. I'm used to it."

Howl sighed. "What do you mean?" he asked. He had an idea what she was trying to say, but he was a little stretched at the moment and felt like forcing her to elaborate.

She released her breath in a frustrated pfft. "You know what I mean. Howl is not a completely bad person. He can be sly, and vain, and he can behave very foolishly at times. But he can also be very kind and caring. That he was even still there says something about how he's changed. This last day has been quite strange all around, and any number of things could have happened or have happened, and yet I love him and so you probably shouldn't ever come back. If you can help it. There."

She was ordering him away! Like he'd ever really want to come back anyway. He must have appeared very savage when they'd been inside. Howl crossed his arms and looked at her. He couldn't quite resist quirking a grin. "Are you saying that happiness is not overrated?" he said, quoting her words from yesterday.

She smiled a bit in return. She seemed relieved. "Exactly."

Howl's grin became a laugh. "Don't worry," he said, and on an impulse, kissed her on the forehead. He was relieved that she didn't stiffen up or misinterpret the gesture, and also that he felt nothing sexual for her whatsoever. It had been a strange day. But one could only help what one did, after all. "Goodbye. Good luck."

Sophie chuckled at that. "Goodbye to you also," she said, and walked past him, back to the door.

Howl shook his head and followed her. He'd thought himself so insightful and intelligent yesterday, figuring everyone out like he was one of those methodical people who took clocks apart and put them back together. And yet she'd been the one to know exactly what to say and do to make him feel better. Howl had better watch out.

There were only ten minutes left on the timer when they returned. Enough time for Howl to roll up his sleeves and get ready to work some magic. There were some questioning looks, but both he and Sophie ignored them. Howl's nervousness was gone, replaced only with happy anticipation.

"Three, two, one," Suliman counted at last. The little candle spat a last shower of sparks with a whoosh.

"Elos forthum," Howl thought, and then everything went black.

x x x

Howell stood near the magic bench, watching the tiny yellow-white sparks as they sizzled, one by one in seeming slow motion, from the ridiculous little timer-candle that Ben Suliman had brought with him.

Sure, it was doing its job. And Ben's plan should work, there was no doubt about that. The timer just looked really stupid. And why had Ben given them an entire half-hour to prepare? Time had actually slowed down, Howell was sure of it.

For a minute or so that seemed like a lifetime, Howell watched spark after spark of magically-activated blue-rose oil form at the tip of the candle, grow and then float off. It looked like an icicle melting in the sun, upside-down (or was it right-side-up? Howell couldn't decide). And for that whole minute that seemed like a lifetime, he could feel five pairs of eyes staring at him. Calcifer was in his hearth, looking a bit smug. Sitting on the couch were the witch, Markl-- holding the dog-- and of course, Sophie.

She had her arms crossed and was glaring at him. She was still under Ben's calming spell-- Howell had been afraid to remove it-- but underneath he could tell she was furious and hurt. Every emotion was evident in her big, glassy brown eyes. It made him uneasy. He couldn't identify the exact feeling or the source of the uneasiness; it wasn't the guilt he'd felt last night; that had been a sort of thrill-of-the-forbidden kind of guilt brought on by the romance of the night and fantastic sex.

A perfectly normal emotion, that one was, for he'd made plenty of girls in his day. Oh, he'd been in love with all of them for a short time. He'd been honest that way, at least, before he'd run off, and without the slightest bit of guilt. For what was the point of prolonging their agony or his when there was no true feeling involved?

Once he'd nabbed Sophie-- his-- he'd realized he no longer wanted that up-and-down. She was lovely. She didn't take too much of his crap. She cared for him in her way and made him feel secure, happy. And yet, she was wrapped up in all of this unaccustomed negative emotion as well. He just couldn't quite figure out how. He could only be glad that soon he would be doing what he should have done fifteen minutes ago-- leaving-- and that he would be going home, where none of it would matter anymore.

Sophie spoke up. "Why did you pretend to be Howl?" she asked. Her voice was flat and dull, lifeless, an effect of Ben's calming spell.

I am Howell, he wanted to say, but he knew exactly what she meant. So he told the truth. "It seemed the easiest thing to do."

"It was very cruel of you," she said. Her screaming had been bad; this cool, reasonable tone was worse, by far. It made him feel like he was sitting in a confessional.

"I didn't think any of you would know," Howl admitted.

Sophie glared at him for a few stretched moments over her crossed arms. "I should have known you weren't Howl," she said, finally. "You're fat."

"Ah!" Howell cried. He put his hands on his hips and glared back at her. "Now you're just being nasty. I'm not fat." I'm not, he thought. NOT fat. Quite FIT, actually.

Perhaps he would never eat again. How would she like that? Of course, she'd probably be ecstatic if he starved to death. But then, he'd never see her again to give her either the satisfaction or the guilt. When he returned home he planned to raise so many blocking spells, no one from this world would be able to get through until he'd been dead at least a hundred years. Perhaps he was cruel.

"He's not fat. Why did you call him fat, Sophie?" Markl took the opportunity to ask. The oppressive atmosphere in the room had kept the boy quiet up until then.

"I was being nasty," Sophie said, jutting out her chin and crossing her arms more firmly. She was so quiet and logical that Howell began to wonder if she really was still under Ben's spell. Some people had the ability to grow more spooky-quiet the angrier they became.

"You'll understand when you're older," the old lady told the boy, and patted him on the shoulder. She looked over at Howell with a roguish grin that made him cringe. "So. You already have a girl?"

"Yes," Howell muttered. "Her name's Sophie."

"Hmph," said Sophie with a jutted chin.

"Too bad," the witch chuckled. "Wonder if there are any more of you out there?"

"I certainly hope not," Sophie mumbled, almost but not quite sotto voce.

Markl felt more free to chatter now that others were doing so. "So it was that spell, huh? Wow. So is there someone like me where you come from, too?"

"Sort of," Howell said. He didn't feel like talking about it. Now that everything-- in a way-- was out in the open, he felt like a stranger again. The brief camaraderie he'd experienced with this family late yesterday was gone. Still, he didn't really want to be rude to the kid; he gave him a short conspiratorial smile. "He's a pretty good apprentice, like you."

Sophie merely glared; she didn't dare hmph at that one.

"Hah!" Markl laughed, leaning forward in interest, short legs dangling over the edge of the couch. The dog wheezed in his arms. "Wow. I can't believe I didn't know. Or you, Calcifer. He even fooled you."

"Yeah, well," Calcifer said in a somewhat sheepish voice. "I figured it out, eventually. Sorry, Sophie."

"That's all right, Calcifer," she said in a flat voice that still somehow managed to achieve a bit of that school-mistressy tone she'd had yesterday. She stared at Howell. "Some people are very good at being fake and untrustworthy. They do it to profit from others' misfortunes. My father called them con artists."

"Oh come on!" Howell cried. Oh, come on? Now you're being nasty? He was quite the master of rhetoric today, was he not? For some reason he could examine himself, but not defend himself. "I didn't mean to come here. How could I have possibly profited from-- uh. Oh." He'd just realized how she might see it.

"Yeah, Sophie." Thankfully that was Markl again, coming unknowingly to Howell's rescue. "He only pretended to be Howl. Probably so we wouldn't be scared or upset at what happened. Howl might have done that, too."

"Not like that," Sophie said.

Such quiet conviction on her part made Howell wonder: how did she know, for sure? And what, exactly, had been going on over in his world? Though apparently being a nice guy got things done, sometimes. For that group over there had been the first to devise a solution-- an amazingly simple solution, a go-between-- to this little switch-problem. And what had Howell been doing? He told himself he'd tried to get home. But what he'd really been doing was eating (which he'd never do again), shopping and shagging his doppelganger's girl.

Silence reigned for a while after that, a few moments in a purgatory of staring eyes, stretched into another eternity. And then, suddenly, all at once, the pieces of the puzzle clicked together in Howell's brain. He realized exactly why he was uneasy, and why this was different from all those other times, and why he felt so guilty and why he couldn't defend himself properly and why he hadn't simply run off earlier.

It was because what he'd done had been completely, utterly wrong. He'd started out wrong by botching the spell (well, with Michael's help, of course). Then, the second he'd landed in this world, he'd pretended to be someone he wasn't and had never rectified his error. Despite Sophie's-- this one's-- school-mistressy, always-right, fat-commenting ways, he'd done her a wrong.

He'd done things no engaged-to-be-married man ought to have done, misunderstanding or not. And he'd never apologized. Living his irreverent life had been so easy before because he'd never seen it through to all its consequences. Magical battles with great evil didn't count; those were part of the fun of being a wizard.

He should be a different man from the one he'd been before he met Sophie-- his. He might not change overnight (and clearly hadn't) but it was time to grow up, and finish the job. Where to start, though?

Howell sighed. If there was one thing he hated, it was being pinned down. But he hated being pinned down in front of an audience even more.

"Right," he said, and cracked his knuckles for courage. Why was magic so easy and all the normal, everyday stuff so difficult? "Calcifer, you have an eye on the time, don't you?"

"Yeah," Calcifer said. "You've got eighteen minutes and fourteen--"

"Fine," Howell said. He walked over to Sophie and gave her an ironic sort of bow, very quaint, he thought. "May I speak to you in private for a minute?"

"I can go with you, Sophie, if you want," Calcifer said in a puppy-dog sort of helpful voice that was very guilty-Calcifer.

"No thank you, Calcifer," Sophie said, then nodded and stood, and gave Howell an equally sort of ironic curtsey in return. She was still wearing her robe and slippers, but was dignified all the same. Then she followed Howell across the room like an automaton. "Revenge for the fat comment?"

"No revenge," Howell said, though he'd considered it, earlier. She was usually right. It was annoying. He chose a door and Sophie nodded. It was the empty bedroom. Just then he realized why it didn't look lived in. It was hers but she didn't sleep there. Dreamlike snippets of the previous night zipped through his brain, unbidden. Howell shook his head. Back to business.

Sophie shut the door firmly behind them; no pretense at propriety did she make, as his own Sophie might have. They were way past that. She folded her arms across her chest again and looked at him.

"What do you want?"

"I want to say… I'm sorry." It was surprisingly easy to say. Howell hardly choked on the words at all. He felt quite virtuous.

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you?"

"Yes. I did the wrong thing. I should have just said who I was from the very beginning, and then none of the other… things would have happened."

"Well, yes. May I ask you something?" At his nod, Sophie continued in her slow, eerily-dead voice. "I just want to know how stupid you thought I was."

"What?" Howell cried, staring. Whatever he'd expected, it hadn't been that. If she really felt that way-- that was just wrong. "I don't think you are stupid at all!"

Sophie closed her eyes and shook her head. "No, really. In my head I've run through every moment of yesterday, every conversation we had, trying to realize when I should have figured it out." She opened her brown eyes-- Sophie's eyes, staring at him with calm disgust. "And trying to remember every opportunity you might have had to tell me the truth. And trying to decide why you didn't trust me."

"That's not it at all," Howell said, cringing inwardly. She really knew how to go for the jugular. And he'd thought she was soft. He was the one who'd been stupid. He'd forgotten that she'd probably rescued her Howl as his Sophie had rescued him, and to boot, she'd done it without any magical abilities whatsoever. She'd dumped water on Calcifer. How had he forgotten that? "I didn't think that. Things were simply… odd. Disoriented. Things just happened, and I didn't know how to stop them. They sort of. Spiraled."

"Spiraled. Hmph," Sophie said. She stared at him even more closely, as if looking for truth. Or perhaps she was looking for Howell. "Last night. I said and… did things, that I would only have done with Howl. Because I love him, and trust him, and because he loves me. Now I feel guilty, and I want to blame you, not keep second-guessing myself. So tell me: should I have known, and if so, when?"

Howell stared back. Why did she have to be so damned reasonable and logical about it? She was like his mother, or his sister, if they had ever berated him in a completely normal tone of voice rather than shrieking. And with her white hair and inherent dignity, she was almost like a Mrs. Pentstemmon.

"I didn't give you the opportunity," Howell said, firmly. "You shouldn't feel guilty at all. I'm very clever in that way, resourceful when I need to be."

"My word, you're cocky," she said with another quirked eyebrow. Her slippered foot tapped a slow tattoo upon the floor. "Though I suppose I should have known. Very well, then. Tell me how you could have done…that… to your Sophie-- whatever she is to you?"

"My fiancee," Howell mumbled. The jugular, right. He certainly didn't want to say, well, you were just her then. Because really, she hadn't been. She'd been a lot of things. "I do love her, you know. I won't tell her. And I won't do it again."

"You're a terrible person."

"Listen," Howell said. He couldn't take much more of this. He'd been trying to do the right thing, and all she could do was guilt him further. That wasn't how this apologizing-confession thing was supposed to work. Was it? "You can keep going on at me, but I can't do anything other than apologize. I'm sorry. If you like, I can throw myself at your mercy. I can lean over like this," here he bent his head down and shifted the hair from the back of his neck, baring it. "And you can take your whack with the knife. Axe. Whatever. I deserve it. All of it."

Sophie pffted an exasperated breath above his bowed head. "Do stop being melodramatic."

"Well, then, what do you want me to do?" Howell asked. He was becoming lightheaded from bending over.

"I want you to go away."

"Going." Howell stood and snapped his fingers at her. But now that he'd started this penitent and utterly contrite thing, he could hardly stop. Perhaps he was being melodramatic. It wouldn't be the first time he'd been accused of such. "I just want you to know. If it makes you feel better. It wasn't… meaningless."

Sophie's dark eyes widened and her jaw dropped, leaving her mouth agape for a few seconds. Then she shut it with a click of her teeth. "The nerve! You're only trying to make yourself feel better. And you're only making me sick. Please don't speak to me any more." She turned around, moving in slow-motion like she was underwater, and opened the door.

She was right as usual. Howell hated it. "It wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Do shut up," came her voice over her shoulder.

All that, and he wasn't to be forgiven? Howell shrugged off his disappointment and followed her out of the room. He'd done what he could; if she didn't appreciate it then he was glad to be leaving, anyway.

Still, Howell couldn't say he didn't feel better for having gotten that apology business accomplished and over with. The atmosphere in the main room no longer seemed so oppressive. Sophie, carefully keeping her back to him, walked over to the little kitchen area and began to straighten and adjust things that needed absolutely no adjusting. Rather than feeling guilty any longer, Howell only found her demeanor rather charming. The staring, interested eyes of the rest of the family (which now included a dog) were more amusing than annoying; Howell winked at that shameless old witch and she laughed out loud. Markl only looked confused.

"You've got eight minutes and twenty-two seconds," Calcifer said.

"Thanks, Cal," Howell said, and went to the magic bench and cracked his knuckles again. The eight minutes flew by in a blur of interested comments from Markl, and the back of Sophie's robe as she resolutely pretended he wasn't there.

Finally, Calcifer counted down the last few seconds: "Three, two, one." The timer spewed a last little fountain of white, crinkly sparks.

"Ciao," Howell said, tossing the spell at the bowl, then "forth--." And all went black.

x x x

End Chapter 9.

Thanks AGAIN! to everyone for commenting. Everything, good or bad, helps, and is very nice to boot. Good to know no one is offended (that I know of) by the lack of seriousness regarding Movie!Sophie's situation; there's a bit of seriousness in the last chapter but overall I think the light tone worked for me.

Next: Home! The last chapter.