Title: Torment, Bob-style
Fandom: Dresden Files
Summary: Bob torments Harry about his feelings about Murphy. Shortly before the series.
(this is the original version of what I wrote to your request, fififolle; but I thought I’d lost this, so I’d started over again)
“Maybe it’s a geas,” I say, more to myself than to anyone else. Oh wait, it’s just me and Bob down here in my basement.
“’A geas’… well,” Bob remarks from the corner of the room; I know better than to ask him to take a more proactive role in all this, “it certainly fits the evidence – your compulsive urges to help Detective Murphy whenever she asks, how you follow her every word, the way you do whatever she says, and my personal favorite -”
“Bob, is it a geas or not?”
“I take it you are asking me my professional opinion?”
“Yeah. Yeah I am.” My name is Harry Dresden, and this is a good day with Bob.
“Why do I get the feeling you already know what’s wrong with me?” I say. I almost didn’t get paid twice last week: Det. Murphy’s face kept popping into my mind when I was supposed to be focusing on the case.
“Because you never went through this while you were being brought up at the Morningway Estate, your body is seizing the opportunity now, Harry.”
“Pretty sure I already hit puberty.” Also pretty sure we wizards don’t hit puberty twice.
“Think, boy, think!” O-kay. Bob doesn’t call me ‘boy’ unless and until I’m being particularly obstinate and stubborn. “When next you see the Detective in question, your heart will race and your palms will sweat.”
Of course! How could I not’ve seen it before?? “That caidir-”
“No,” he interrupts me, “not the caidiru-based spell I taught you on your 17th birthday.”
There goes that idea.
So what’s left?”
“Oh please, Harry, why not simply call her up?” His tone lowers and gets all B-movie ‘mysterious,’ “You know you want to.”
I know I want to?
Carefully putting away the papertick-sucked ancient book I’ve got in my hands – my uncle Justin’d probably come back if I banged up this book – before I slowly barrel up to Bob, who doesn’t back away. “You cast a love spell? On me?? How in Hell can you cast a spell like that? You’re a ghost!”
“Yes, of that, I’m aware. Needless to say that I have never cast a love spell.” Under his breath, if that means much for a ghost, “No matter how greatly you were in need of one.”
“Then who?” I ask. “Can’t be Murphy – she’d never do that.” Probably drowning in phone calls from guys asking her for a date. “Now Ancient Mai, she’s a definite maybe – if I can just figure out the Why.”
“I notice you rather swiftly dismissed the good Detective as a suspect.”
“C’mon, Bob, Murphy’s plenty smart.” A genius, in fact. “But this is magic we’re talking about here.”
“Oh clearly. In that case, I shall retire for the night,” and apparates back to his skull.
Weird. Even for Bob.