Fic: By the Load I Bear (Heroes, Matt/Mohinder)

Author’s Note: Written for icalynn for the “twelve days of Christmas” meme – I’m pretty sure this isn’t what she was looking for, and I’m not sure it really came from her prompt at all. I don’t really know *where* it came from and that kinda freaks me out a little – it’s certainly not how I planned to start this particular AU! As for the title…well, I can’t seem to keep away from near-blasphemy with titles this week – ACK.


I am waiting in a silent prayer
I am frightened by the load I bear
In a world as cold as stone
Must I walk this path alone?
–Amy Grant, “Breath of Heaven”

The first time it happened, Mehadi thought it was revulsion. It was not a hard leap to make: she’d felt little else for her traveling companion since she’d found the obituary of the real Zane Taylor. It horrified her that she could have been so blind, so naïve, as to simply trust this…stranger. Every touch, every kiss – the same touches and kisses that had once helped ease the desperate loneliness of appearing to the world a crackpot – now sickened her. It was only natural for that psychological response to express itself physically.

The second time, she attributed it to head trauma. After all, Sylar hadn’t precisely been gentle when he’d pinned her to the ceiling with a thought while he tried to kill Peter. And then with Peter’s death and unexpected resurrection, Sylar’s disappearance, meeting Molly and the search for a cure to her illness, the whole chain of events that seemed to be rapidly spiraling out of control towards a grim and inevitable outcome, there hadn’t been much time to worry about her health. If she lost the contents of her stomach a little more often than usual, well, that could be attributed to the rather extreme level of stress she’d been under.

It wasn’t until after the explosion that lit the Manhattan sky like day, when the most stressful thing in her life was bringing Molly to the hospital for her daily visits with the recuperating officer Parkman that it began to dawn on Mehadi that perhaps she ought to see a doctor.

Somewhere, deep in her mind, she already suspected what was happening to her, but only after the gynecologist at the hospital confirmed it was she no longer able to shy away from this reality that appalled her. Seeing her reaction, the doctor had quietly reminded her that there were…options. Though the choice should have been obvious, she found it wasn’t and that, as much as anything else, was what terrified her.

Now she lingered in the doorway of Officer Parkman’s room in the hospital, watching Molly chat animatedly with the rotund but warm-hearted policeman who had, over the past few weeks, become almost as important to Mehadi as he was to the little girl. Knowing that Matthew could read her thoughts if she wasn’t careful, she guarded them closely. Sooner or later, the truth would have to come out, but right now she was too afraid: afraid that this secret might destroy what she was slowly beginning to think of as her family.

After all, what would they think of her if they knew that the monster who had nearly destroyed all their lives was the father of her child?

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Fic: The Promise of Christmas Past (Heroes, gen)

Author’s Note: Written for a Heroes Christmas exchange. My prompt was the song, “Here Comes Santa Claus”. Set several years pre-series. Ages are estimated based on series canon and the actual ages of the actors. (Oh, and if you have a problem with adorable little kids, you’d probably better skip this one. 😉 )


“Is he here yet, is he here yet?”

Sixteen-year-old Nathan Petrelli awoke with a grunt as a four-year-old bundle of energy landed square on his chest. He blinked bleary eyes into the semi-darkness; even though it had to be the middle of the night, the lights of Manhattan still glowed through the curtains just enough that he could make out Peter’s form and, more indistinctly, also his face.

“What…what time is it?” The alarm clock, which he had to peer around his brother to see, displayed “1:42” in glowing red numbers. “Pete, have you been to sleep at all yet?”

Peter shook his little head, bowl-cut black hair flying around his eager face. “Nuh uh. Can’t sleep. Did Santa come yet?”

With a deep, long-suffering sigh, Nathan picked up his brother and set his feet on the floor before slowly sitting up in bed. He looked at the eager boy with a guarded but affectionate smile. “You’ve gotta go to sleep, Pete. You know how Santa ‘sees you when you’re sleeping’ and ‘knows when you’re awake’?: he’s not going to come until you’re asleep.”

Peter’s face visibly drooped. “But how’s he gonna find us, Nathan? And how’s he gonna get in? We don’t have a chimney.”

A part of him couldn’t help but smile at the innocent worry in his brother’s voice, but if there was one thing Nathan had promised himself when Peter was born, it was that he wouldn’t have to worry about anything. Not even how Santa was going to come down the nonexistent chimney in the family’s Manhattan penthouse or how he would find them when they weren’t at home in Long Island.

Picking Peter up, he balanced him on his hip. “Don’t you know Santa can find anyone in the world? He’s got a built-in radar or something.”

“In the sleigh?” Peter asked, awed.

Nathan shook his head. “Nah, in his head. If I was standing next to Santa right now and I asked him where my brother, Peter Petrelli was, he would tell me he was in an apartment in New York. Even if he’d never been here before in his life.”

He paused to open the door to his bedroom, but Peter was already voicing his next worry again: “But how will he get in without a chimney?”

“Well, think about it. Most chimneys are pretty narrow, right?” Nathan asked.

Peter nodded, wide-eyed.

“And Santa’s a pretty big guy.”

Another nod, this time accompanied by a giggle.

“Well, the way I figure it, Santa couldn’t go down chimneys at all if he was an ordinary man. So you know what I bet? I bet he can walk through solid objects. Like walls or fireplaces. That’s how he doesn’t need a key to get in.”

Peter’s already wide eyes bugged even bigger. “Wow! Like Shadowcat?”

Nathan’s smile widened. So, some good had come out of reading Peter his old X-Men comics after all. Mom had yelled at him, told him Peter was too young to understand and that Nathan shouldn’t fill his head with that kind of nonsense. She said he should learn to live in the real world, but personally, Nathan wished he’d been allowed to be a kid and believe in fantasy a little longer. No way was he going to help inflict the same Petrelli pragmatism on his brother before he was five.

“Yeah. Just like Shadowcat.”

“What else can he do?” Peter asked eagerly.

“Well…” Nathan had to think about it for a minute. Thank God he had started reading comics when he was only a little older than Peter, because now he had lots of ideas for the suddenly-almost-omnipotent Santa Claus. “He’s carrying that bag that has presents in it for all the children of the world, and I bet it’s pretty heavy. He must be pretty strong, like Superman. And not every home in the world has a big roof where he can land the sleigh with all the reindeer, so I bet he just parks them on one roof and then flies to all the other houses in the area.”

Peter’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “Santa can fly?”

Nathan nodded. Mom would probably scold him again for the tale he was weaving, but for now it was enough just to see Peter’s eyes light up like that. “And if you think about it, he’s been delivering presents for a long time, so I bet he’s immortal too.”

“What’s immortal?”

“It means he can’t die,” Nathan explained. “That he could live forever.”

“You mean forever’n ever’n ever?” Peter asked excitedly.

Nathan laughed. “Yeah. Forever and ever and ever.”

“I want to stay up and see Santa,” Peter pouted. “If I’m pretending to sleep, won’t he come then?”

“Are you kidding?” Nathan said, giving his brother his most convincing look of disbelief. “Santa can read your mind–how do you think he always knows which present on your list you want the most? If he comes around and you’re not dreaming, he’ll know.”

This time it was Peter’s turn to let out a deep sigh in imitation of his brother. “Okay, I’ll go to bed. But if you see him, Nathan, promise you’ll say thank you for me?”

Now didn’t that just figure: most kids wanted to stay up to see Santa so they could catch him leaving their presents. Peter wanted to thank him. Nathan just smiled again. “You bet I will.”

They’d reached Peter’s bedroom by this time, so Nathan opened the door and walked them in, stopping only to turn on the light. He lay Peter down gently in his small bed with its Superman bed sheets then pulled the covers up to his brother’s chin and sat down on the bed beside him.

“Nathan?” Peter asked next.

“Yeah, Pete?”

“The world is pretty big, right?” He sounded worried again.

Nathan nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

“So how does Santa give presents to all the kids in the world in just one night? Does he hafta skip some because he runs out of time?”

“No, of course he doesn’t,” Nathan promised. “Because you see, that’s something else Santa can do. He can stop time, so that when he lands at our house, everywhere in the world time will just stop until he unloads all the presents and goes on his way.”

“And what does Santa do if he forgets somebody?”

“Santa?” Nathan made an affectionate scoffing sound. “Santa never forgets anything or anyone. And even if he did, he won’t forget you, I promise.”

Relaxing at last, Peter snuggled down deeper into his covers. Nathan smiled, leaning down to give his brother a kiss on the forehead before standing and heading back towards the door.

“Nathan?” Peter asked sleepily just as he reached it.

Nathan turned back. “Yeah?”

“When I grow up, can I be Santa and do all those things?”

Nathan laughed softly as he reached out with one hand to turn out the light. “You can be anything you want, Pete.”

As he closed the door, he made another silent promise to himself: I’ll make sure of it.

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Fic: The Crippled Queen (Heroes, Nathan/Heidi)

Author’s Note: Not quite sure where this one came from, except that it was somehow Medie’s fault for suggesting I write Dragonsinger something about Heidi for her birthday. *g* This was also originally meant to be longer, but I ran out of time.


“Her Majesty, Queen Adelheid,” the herald announced, to the accompaniment of silver trumpets.

It would be easier if she could grant audiences in her bedchamber, Heidi thought wryly as four of her strongest servants carried the sedan chair that bore her into the throne room, followed by Claude, her personal valet and, unbeknownst to anyone but her, one of her most valuable spies.

Easier, yes, but she would never do it. The fall from her favorite horse might have broken her body, but she had no intention of allowing her mind or her courage to appear weakened as well by cowering in bed. She might be crippled, but she had still borne Nathan two sons, one of whom would grow up to be king. Receiving supplicants in the throne room, just as she always had when the king was away on matter of state, showed that she was still a force to be reckoned with.

Or at least she hoped it did.

Heidi knew there were rumors abroad in the kingdom that Nathan planned to set her aside: that a ruined queen who could not stand by his side or dance with him at important state functions was a liability, and if she could be quietly put away he would then elevate one of his mistresses to the throne. While Heidi didn’t want to believe there was any truth to said rumors, at the very least her stubborn refusal to disappear from public life would make it clear to not just Nathan but the entire kingdom that she had no intentions of going anywhere quietly.

The sedan was lowered to the ground, and Claude was instantly at her side. “Your Majesty,” he spoke quietly.

Thank the heavens for Claude. His ability to turn invisible and move unseen about the castle had kept her aware of and involved in the politics and gossip of the court even during the long months of her recovery, when she hadn’t been able to leave her bed, much less her bedchamber. He was one of her secret weapons, one that even Nathan wasn’t aware of.

The other, of course, was Matthew, captain of her personal guard and yet another of her most trusted spies. It was a dangerous game she played with her husband, protecting these two men from the law he himself had passed, outlawing the practice of magic. But taking that risk guaranteed their loyalty to her absolutely.

In a gesture that struck Heidi as oddly symbolic, even if no one else saw it, it was these two men who approached the sedan chair, allowing her to lean on both of them–oh, in more ways than one–so that she could at least appear to walk the distance to the throne. It may have been an open secret that beneath her heavy gown, her dead legs hung useless, but she was grateful to her people for allowing her this small illusion of independence.

Once she was seated, Claude stepped back, melting into the crowd. She knew he would move invisibly amongst them as soon as he could vanish without notice, harvesting information that might save her life one day. Matthew took his place beside the throne, keen eyes studying the crowd and his extraordinary mind listening for any thought that might betray one in the sea of faces as an enemy.

Heidi looked from the herald who had announced her arrival to the first of the day’s supplicants. “Bid her come forward,” she directed him quietly.

As he did so, she found herself considering Claude yet again. Small magics such as his were not uncommon in Yourik, even if the practice of them was against the law. Once, they had betokened royal blood. Once, even longer ago, so the stories said, the kings of Yourik had commanded powers to rival even the most skilled sorcerers. It was their birthright. But, over the generations, the bloodline had thinned, so that both her husband and his brother appeared to have no power at all, at least not of the magical sort.

At the same time, one too many royal bastards born the wrong side of the blanket had spread the trait, in its diluted form, into the general populace, so that now the peasant woman who approached her was equally as likely to have some small trick only he could perform as was a minor lordling like Claude.

“Majesty.” The woman dropped carefully to one broad knee. “My man passed on, nigh on a year ago. Since then, my boy and I have tried to keep up our small piece of land and tithe faithfully, but we’d only the one cow and a bull shared with two neighbors. Well, just this month past, the bull died. Our cow’s milk has dried up, and without a bull to get a new calf on her, we’ll have no choice but to slaughter her and hope the meat lasts through the winter. I’m a hard-working woman, Majesty, and I don’t like to ask for charity, but…”

Heidi held out a hand to gently silence her. She glanced to Claude. “Claude, do you think we might spare a bull from the royal herds?”

“Oh, I think we can manage with one less,” he agreed readily enough. “Just the one, though; we can’t go giving away bulls to every beggar as though they were alms.”

The woman hung her head, her face flushing in shame at the word “beggar.”

“We have no intention of giving even one to any beggars,” Heidi corrected gently. As valuable as Claude was to her, there were times when she did not appreciate his bluntness. “However, surely we can spare one for this good, hard-working woman who doesn’t like to take charity. What is your name, Mother?”

The woman’s head bowed again, this time in gratitude. “Dee, Majesty. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Careful, Majesty, cautioned Matthew’s silent voice; he had recently discovered that he could not only hear others’ thoughts, but make his own heard if he wished to. You don’t want to appear too lenient.

Thank you, Matthew, she retorted crisply without looking at him. I know it’s been a long while, but I have granted audiences in the past while His Majesty was abroad, and I’ve not bankrupted the country yet.

He shifted awkwardly beside her, and Heidi smiled fondly at the contrite tone of the thought that came back to her. Yes, Majesty.

Of course, she understood his concern. His fortunes and Claude’s rose and fell with her own: if she was deposed for some blonde hussy, she would no longer be in a position to protect them from Nathan’s Inquisitor, a man known only–and ironically–as Noah. Still, understanding the fear didn’t mean she had to indulge it.

The trumpets sounded again and Heidi suppressed a sigh when the herald announced the arrival of the Dowager Queen, Angela, and Nathan’s younger brother, Peter, Bishop of Manahatt.

“Adelheid, my dear,” Angela addressed her son’s wife in a pleasant and yet at the same time utterly patronizing tone. “What a delightful surprise to see you up and about. Are you sure you should be holding court, though? This endless stream of petitioners can be quite tiring for someone in your condition.”

Heidi clung to her composure, not about to let the Dowager Queen show her up. “I rather think ‘my condition’ makes me the ideal person to hold court in Nathan’s absence. I imagine it’s quite a comfort to our people to be granted audience with someone who won’t get up and walk away on a whim or because she gets bored.”

Angela looked startled for a moment before pasting a false smile on. “Of course,” she conceded with melodramatic magnanimity.

Behind his mother’s head, Peter flashed Heidi a sympathetic smile, which she returned. When she’d first come to Yourik as a young bride, Heidi had to admit she’d been afraid of how Peter would react. She’d had her head filled since childhood with stories of younger princes who murdered their brothers or nephews to gain the throne, but Peter’s ambition was of an entirely different sort. When her first son, Simon, had been born, Nathan’s brother had been ecstatic that the mantle of heir had been lifted from his shoulders, freeing him to pursue his true passion, the traditional calling of the second son: the Church.

Of course, that might not have been quite so easy a vocation to choose had the Church of Yourik, like that of many of its neighbors, required celibacy of its clergy, since Peter’s unrequited love for the daughter of Lord Devereaux bordered on legendary. It was the favorite gossip for the court’s romantic young ladies, all of whom desired to be the one to win the hand and heart of the handsome young prince away from his disinterested beauty.

Angela, on the other hand, had never made any secret of the fact that she intended to be the power behind the throne rather than allow her daughter-in-law to assume the role. In Heidi’s opinion, she already wielded too much influence over her son: the outlawing of even minor magics had been Angela’s doing. Heidi also had no doubt that if Nathan were to consider setting her aside for a physically whole but more docile queen, that it would be at Angela’s prompting.

She loved her husband and her country too much to give up either to the machinations of a woman who couldn’t let go. So as hard as it was, she could never visibly allow Angela to get to her. Even that meant turning her back on a woman who would gladly stab her in it, and trusting Matthew and Claude–possibly even Peter–to keep her safe instead.

She looked at the next supplicant: a dark-skinned man with curly black hair, in the dress of a scholar. He came forward and bowed gracefully, speaking with a voice that turned out to be as beautiful as his face. “Your Majesty. My name is Mohinder Suresh. My father, Chandra Suresh, enjoyed your Majesties’ patronage for his study into the nature of magic, and I crave your blessing to assume the mantle of his work in the wake of his recent death.”

Interesting that Nathan should have been sponsoring scholars to study the very thing he had outlawed within the boundaries of his realm. Intrigued, Heidi asked, “Did His Majesty elaborate on the purpose of his patronage?”

Mohinder shook his head. “If he did, then my father did not see fit to share the information with me. If Your Majesty will pardon me, though…I believe it was important work, that ought to be continued.”

For what it’s worth, he really does. I think he can be trusted.

Heidi nodded. “I agree. Perhaps if we understood the workings of magic, we would not have cause to fear it so much.” She extended her hand, which he came forward to press a fervent kiss to.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

She gestured for Matthew. “See to it that Scholar Suresh is given rooms at the university, along with whatever support he requires to continue his studies and sustain himself. If the King should choose to withdraw his patronage when he returns, then I give you the guarantee of mine.”

The young scholar looked stunned. “Thank you, Your Majesty. That means more to me than I can possibly express.”

+++

For the next few hours, the scene was much the same. A supplicant would approach the throne and state their need, and Heidi would answer it as best she could, with advice from Matthew on the party’s worthiness to receive the boon they asked for.

Despite her best efforts, by the time the day was half over, Heidi had to admit she was tired. Closer to exhausted would be the truth.

You okay? Matthew asked, his mental “voice” sounding worried.

I will be, she reassured him.

Okay, that’s it. I’ll make up some sort of security excuse, but we’re getting you out of here.

She considered arguing for a moment, but had to reluctantly acknowledge that she really was too exhausted to keep going. One more, she compromised instead. One more and then I’ll go.

One more. And I’m holding you to that, he agreed in a firm tone. Really it was a tone he shouldn’t take with his queen, but Heidi knew better than to discourage her people’s protectiveness of her. Matthew cleared his throat loudly and made the announcement.

The crowd in the throne room was barely thinner than it had been when she began, and naturally a murmur of disappointment rippled through the room, but to her undying gratitude, most of them faded quickly.

Heidi nodded to the herald, who gestured for the young man at the front of the line to approach her. He was young, probably not much older than Peter, with the same dark hair and eyes as her husband and his brother, but then such coloring was not uncommon in Yourik–her own was not dissimilar either. Something, though, about this man caused a shiver of apprehension to run through her veins, even as he knelt and made obeisance just like all the others.

You and me both, Matthew chimed in uncertainly. I’m not getting anything from this guy. It’s like he’s blocking me, but he couldn’t be…

“Your Majesty. My name is Gabriel, son of Gray, the watchmaker.”

“And what boon can I grant you, Gabriel, son of Gray?” Heidi asked, just as she had all the others.

When he lifted his eyes to hers, the apprehension exploded into full-blown fear, because the look in them was that of a madman.

He spoke quietly, but the cold, calculated words were like daggers of ice in her heart. “You can tell the king, when he returns from Lasveg, to abdicate the throne that is rightfully mine. If he does, I will allow you both to live.”

Heidi couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I beg your pardon?”

Matthew cursed silently, one hand flying to the hilt of his sword, but Gabriel ignored him. “You know your history, don’t you, Queen Adelheid?” he asked smoothly, with a sinister smile. When she didn’t answer, the smile grew broader. “If you do, then you know that the ancient kings of this land were sorcerers beyond compare.”

Matthew took one step forward. He didn’t get any farther.

Gabriel threw out one hand and the captain of her personal guard went flying across the room like a rubber ball, striking the stone wall with a sickening thud and crumpling to the marble floor.

The room exploded into an uproar, voices raised in anger and terror.

Gabriel ignored them all, rising to his feet and looming over her. “With that sort of heritage…how is it possible that we allowed ourselves to be governed by such a…weak bloodline? A king with no magic at all, and so afraid of the power of others that he outlaws even the simplest of gifts? The people of Yourik deserve better, don’t you agree?”

From four corners of the room, Matthew’s men charged him, but Gabriel threw out the other hand, wreathed in flame but the flesh not consumed by it. Fireballs shot from his fingers as he hurled several more of her men against the wall. “Certainly they deserve better than a queen who can’t even walk.” He faced her again, and Heidi realized only belatedly, with a start, that he had levitated her out of her throne. With no feeling below the waist, she might not have noticed at all if not for the change in perspective.

Peter started to surge out of his seat, but Angela held him back with a hand and a sharp cry: “Peter!”

“I have to do something!” he argued back fiercely.

What he could have done against such power, Heidi didn’t know, but thankfully they never got the chance to find out. From nowhere, a sword appeared through Gabriel’s midsection. Shocked, he jerked once, then twice before collapsing to the ground.

Heidi saw the ground hurtling towards her as well, visions of her fall from her horse threatening to swamp her with terror, but just before she hit the floor she felt Peter catch her and set her back upon her throne. Before them, standing over the still form of the watchmaker’s son, Claude became visible. A gasp of shock–another one–rippled through the assembly and Heidi stared at him in dismay. Oh, Claude…

“Well,” he stated ruefully. “I suppose that’s it, then. Ought to go hand myself over to the Inquisitor, shouldn’t I?” Before she could interrupt to argue that he’d saved her life, all of their lives, Claude cut her off. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I shouldn’t have kept you in the dark, but when a man’s very nature is against the law, what’s he supposed to do, eh? Still, never meant to make you party to breaking His Majesty’s command, even unknowing.”

What was he talking about? If there was one thing she had never been about Claude’s gift, it was “unknowing.” But before she could say so, Heidi was shocked to hear Peter’s voice in her mind as she had so often heard Matthew’s.

Heidi, let him. He’s protecting you. Let on that you knew and it’ll give Mom the excuse she’s been looking for to get rid of you.

It was a struggle not to look at him in shock. Since when was Peter–Peter, for God’s sake–mage-gifted? And stranger still, with the same gift as her Matthew?

Matthew! Oh, God, please let him still be alive. But if she didn’t play along, she might not get the chance to find out.

“Claude, I…I don’t know what to say. But thank you for saving my life. In spite of your crime, I think when His Majesty learns what you have done for me and for all the people here, he will grant you leniency.”

Forget leniency. When Nathan got home, she was going to have a word with him about repealing that damnable law. If he didn’t, there would be no one left to stand against the next Gabriel. And speaking of…she looked down at the still form.

“Does he live?”

One of the guards rushed to the man’s side, to check for a pulse. “Yes, Majesty. Would you like me to kill him?”

It was tempting, but… “No.”

“Why on Earth not?” Angela exclaimed in an incredulous voice, and from the looks on the faces of those assembled, she wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

“He’s dangerous alive, Majesty,” the guard–Diyel, she thought his name was–pointed out.

“He’s dangerous conscious,” she corrected. “Ply him with drug and drink to keep him in a stupor if you must, but tend to his wounds and keep him alive at least for now. I need to discover who this man is, and how such power could fall so far from the royal tree, before another like him comes before us.”

The guards bowed low, then moved quickly to remove both Gabriel and Claude (oh, Claude…) from the throne room and transport them to the dungeons. Heidi, meanwhile, twisted around as best she could to look in Matthew’s direction. To her surprise and gratitude, the scholar she’d given her patronage to earlier–Mohinder–was kneeling beside him. “Is he all right?” she asked.

Mohinder nodded. “Yes, I think so. Thought it probably wouldn’t hurt to have the court physician see to him.”

Heidi nodded. “Would you accompany him and then report to me on his condition?”

Mohinder stood and made a low bow. “Of course, Majesty.”

When he and another group of guards had departed, carrying Matthew with them, and the rest had cleared the throne room except for Angela, Peter, and a few servants, Heidi finally allowed herself to relax. Closing her eyes, she sat quietly until her heart stopped thudding with fear.

While she was sure Angela would have gladly remained to tell her daughter-in-law everything she’d done wrong in handling the surprise crisis, after Peter spoke to her in low tones that Heidi couldn’t hear, she too reluctantly left, escorted by her younger son. Heidi let a silent Thank you float to the top of her thoughts, and though he didn’t acknowledge it, she felt sure that Peter had heard it.

In some ways, that was the most incredible part of the whole extraordinary day; the fact that Peter could be an illicit mind reader. How could Nathan not have known about this? And if he did, why on Earth had he enacted that stupid law?

One thing was certain. When Nathan returned home from Lasveg, the two of them were going to have to have a very long, very honest talk.

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Fic: Double Trouble (or, When Harry Met Harry) (HP/DF, gen)

Set post-HBP and “Birds of a Feather”–mostly movie and TV-verse, respectively, but possibly with one or two elements from the books sneaking in. Thanks to Christina for the emergency beta and title suggestions (the subtitle is hers! *g*).


One of these days I’ve got to learn how to say no to Murphy. It’d make my life so much simpler.

Not that I’m blaming her, not really. She gets a report from the Greyhound terminal about some teenage kid throwing a couple of guys around with what appeared to be magic, it’s only natural she’d drag me out of bed at 3AM to come down and take a look. As natural as it should be for me to pass the buck to Morgan and the Council and let them deal with it. You’d think, anyway.

Instead–naturally–I got it into my head to take a look at this kid myself before I hand him over to anybody. Partly because, except for the victims and some of their friends, we couldn’t get anyone at the bus station to testify against him, which kinda makes one think the tossing might not be entirely undeserved. Mostly, though, I just think no matter what he did or why he did it, a kid that young doesn’t deserve to have a death sentence from the White Council potentially hanging over his head. And for that matter, no one of any age should have to deal with that undeserving of it–I ought to know.

Still, there was a very big part of me that would’ve much rather been home in bed than sneaking into a youth hostel because the receptionist seems to have the idea that I’m some sort of pervert, not a perfectly legal, official police consultant. Not that catching me sneaking in after she threw me out was likely to disabuse her of this notion, so I really, really hoped I wouldn’t get caught. The last thing I needed was for Murphy to leave me to stew in lock-up for the day and maybe overnight because I went to find the kid when she asked me not to, never mind that she should know better by now than to put me onto a scent and then tell me not to follow it.

Unlike a hotel, the hostel didn’t have separate rooms for its guests. Instead, there were a couple of large dormitories and the kind of massive bathrooms you’d find in a college dorm, an army barracks or a high school gym. All I had to do was find this kid’s bed and hope it could tell me something about who and what I was dealing with. Then I’d either do the sensible thing and call Morgan, or I’d leave my card with a note to call me and probably get myself killed.

Fortunately or unfortunately for me, I couldn’t have missed my target if I’d wanted to. The kid’s power radiated off of everything he touched like a giant neon sign reading, “Wizard here.”

He didn’t have much, just one bag stuffed into a foot locker at the end of the bed. No protective wards on said foot locker, either, which either meant he didn’t know to place them or didn’t expect to need them: I was betting on the latter. The description I’d gotten from the kid’s “victim” suggested someone who was pretty damn well trained. Probably better–or at least more formally–trained than I was, which was one more reason why I was out of my mind to even be poking around here.

Inside the bag were two or three changes of clothes, pretty standard attire for a teenager, and a couple of personal items. One in particular caught my eye: a photo album with pictures in it that moved. Huh. I’d heard about that sort of thing, but never seen it. That sort of thing was a lot more common in, say, European countries where the current magical tradition went back a lot further. American magic, like American culture, was a weird amalgamation of spells and traditions from all over the world, which meant it didn’t quite operate by the same rules as the rest of the world. The photo album fit with what one witness had claimed, that his friend’s “attacker” spoke with an English accent.

What I didn’t find, however, was a passport, which meant I now had a pretty good idea how he’d gotten to the US, if not to Chicago.

A sharply spoken word from somewhere behind me and a burst of power ripped the photo album out of my hands a second before the foot locker slammed closed of its own accord. I had enough warning to save my fingers from a nasty accident, but just barely.

I had a good idea what I’d find when I turned around, and sure enough, there was a boy who looked about sixteen, glaring at me from behind a pair of round glasses that were taped over the bridge of the nose. It’d be almost funny if his eyes weren’t dark with fury. I stood slowly, trying to give myself time to get a good look at the kid and compare it to the descriptions we’d been given at the bus station: tall but not too tall, with short black hair that looked like it had tangled with a weed whacker. Said hair was too short to hide the distinctive scar on the forehead–a jagged line like a lightning bolt running from his hairline to his eyebrow. He had a wand in one hand–an honest-to-god wand, not an improvised number like my late, lamented drumstick–yet another indicator that he came from somewhere with a long and stable tradition of wizardry.

“Who are you?” the boy rasped in a voice that was raw with anger but still definitely English. “What do you want from me?”

“Hey, take it easy.” I held up both hands in a gesture of goodwill that I hoped would work, since I’d left my staff on the floor just in case waving a hockey stick around would only alarm the kid. It was still within reach if I needed it. “I just want to talk. You’ve been calling a lot of attention to yourself, so you’re lucky it’s just me snooping around and not someone representing the Council.”

The wand didn’t move, but I could see his eyes and mouth tighten into defensive lines. Wonderful.

“Look,” I decided to press the advantage while I still had it, if I ever did. “It’s obvious you don’t know really know much about things work over here. All I want to do is give you a hand.”

“And why should I trust you?”

“Because I know what it’s like to have that bunch of self-righteous navel gazers give you hell for not following the letter of the Law, never mind that I’d be dead if I’d done things their way. Believe me, that’s not something you ever want to deal with.”

The distrustful look on his face degenerated into a sneer, an expression that didn’t look natural on his face. But at least the hand holding the wand dropped–apparently he didn’t consider me a threat. “I don’t know who you are, or what sort of help you think you can give me, but I don’t need it. Get out.”

“You’re a wizard,” I stated baldly.

The wand snapped back up like a catapult and a spell was on his tongue almost before it got level with me. Luckily, I’d anticipated just such a reaction and had both staff and shield bracelet up to block it in time. “Look, kid, I told you, I’m just trying to help you. Will you stop jumping the goddamned gun and just listen for a minute?”

“My name’s not ‘kid,'” he spat out, enough venom in his voice that you’d think I’d called him a lot worse.

Nah, it couldn’t be that easy, could it? “So what is it?”

“You know,” he stated bitterly.

I shook my head. “Trust me, if I did, I’d be using it.” I wasn’t lying. As much of a handful as this kid was proving to be, I could use a little true name magic right about now, even if using it would bring Morgan down on me like the proverbial ton of bricks.

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Harry. Harry Potter.”

Oh, didn’t that just take the cake. Even though I didn’t dare lower my staff and end our little stalemate, I had to laugh.

“I’m not going back,” he stated defiantly.

I shrugged, still pondering ways I could get revenge on Murphy for sending me after a renegade kid who was not only a wizard, but also practically my namesake. “Back where?”

That seemed to throw him a little, but he recovered and answered, “to Hogwarts.”

“Okay. Can’t say I’d want to be sent back to a hog’s warts either.”

Young Mr. Potter faltered. “You…you honestly don’t know…who I am?”

For the first time since we’d so inauspiciously met a few seconds ago, I had a feeling the kid might actually be listening to me. “Should I?”

The wand wavered. “But then…why were you laughing?”

I nodded vaguely in its direction. “Put the wand down and promise me you’ll at least hear me out, and I’ll tell you.”

Still looking confused but wary, he lowered the wand and, at a gesture from me, took a seat on the bed. I relaxed my own grip on my staff and offered him my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Harry Potter. My name’s Harry Dresden.”

~+~+~+~

Half an hour later, we were back at my place and I was heating up a cup of tea for my guest over a bunsen burner. Okay, so it was probably still an incredibly stupid idea for me to try to handle this kid without some sort of back-up, but what can I say? He reminded me of me, moreso even than Scott, and not just because of the name.

Potter accepted the cup of tea and took a sip. When he didn’t declare me an ignorant Yankee and upend it over my head, I figured things were looking up.

“So. What brings you to Chicago?” I asked.

His entire bearing shifted. Shoulders that had started to relax once he had the tea in his hands tensed up again, and I could see his knuckles turn white where they gripped the cup. He answered with just one word. “Voldemort.”

Voldemort? It sounded like something you’d take for indigestion. “Who or what is that? Someone you’re running from?”

“No!” was the vehement answer, a firm denial the likes of which only an indignant teenager can produce. Then his tone turned more serious, and a hell of a lot more subdued. “I’m not running away, I was…I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. Or killed.”

Ah, so that’s how it was. “So you decided to act as bait, and figured if you took the bait halfway around the world, the people you cared about wouldn’t accidentally wind up in the way?”

He didn’t answer, just stared at his tea. Which was really answer enough, even taking into consideration the kid was English.

“So tell me about it.”

Potter looked up. “Tell you about what?”

I shrugged. “Everything. Who is this guy, why’s he after you, yadda yadda yadda.”

You could’ve sent the El through his mouth, it dropped open so wide. “You really don’t know?”

“I really don’t. You’d be surprised how much of what’s going on around the world never makes the news over here. Even in what you might call our…smaller circle.”

So he told me. It was pretty much your standard tale of woe–kid loses parents to evil wizard with delusions of world domination, kid miraculously survives attack from said evil wizard and causes spell to backfire on him, turning him into a disembodied spirit, kid spends the next ten years of his life with abusive, non-magical relatives only to discover at the grand old age of eleven that a) he’s a wizard and b) on the downside, the guy who failed to kill him before is still trying. There was a prophecy in there somewhere too, a few more deaths and a betrayal for good measure. Okay, so maybe not your standard tale of woe, although it had a lot of the classic elements, but plenty of woe. And for me, more than a little that’s familiar too.

“Harry…Harry, I know what you’re thinking and I would not advise it. Don’t let the coincidental fact that he shares your given name cloud your judgment.”

On the excuse of making a phone call, I’d left Harry the younger in the lab and wandered out to my office to think, something Bob apparently thought I needed help with.

I sighed. “He’s just a kid.”

Bob shook his nonexistent head. “A ‘kid’ who just happens to have incurred the wrath of one of the most powerful black wizards of our time.”

Okay, that got my attention. “You know this Voldemort character?”

“I know of him,” he answered vaguely. “And trust me, he is not a wizard you want to cross, not even with the entire White Council at your back. If you give this boy sanctuary and Voldemort does come looking for him, it won’t be a question of if you die, only how painfully.”

Perfect. Just what I needed. So then, why was I thinking what I was thinking?

“And what if he’s wrong?” I pointed out. “What if Voldemort doesn’t come after him, but instead decides to use someone he cares about to lure him home?”

“Then perhaps you ought to encourage him to return before that can happen,” Bob suggested. “But if you try to keep him here and protect him, you will fail.”

Always nice to know the skull has faith in you. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“He’s right,” Potter’s subdued voice came from behind me. Should’ve known the phone excuse wouldn’t work.

“I didn’t think, I just ran.” He took a step further into the room, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “I thought…if I could just get far enough away…that my friends were in danger because they were close to me. I didn’t consider the alternative.”

Potter looked at me, and the disgruntled teenager I’d run into at the hostel was gone. “If Voldemort went after Ginny or Ron or Hermione because I wasn’t there…I’d never forgive myself.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “You were right all along, Mr. Dresden. I was running away. I didn’t ask for this, but that doesn’t mean I can just turn my back on it and leave my friends to face the consequences.”

“A wise choice, young Mr. Potter,” Bob agreed with a prim nod.

It was. Even I could see that. But that didn’t mean the part of me that had a hero complex was listening. “So you’re going home. Want me to come along, as back up?”

He shook his head. “Thanks, but as you said, your magic doesn’t work quite the same as ours.”

I shrugged. “Might be just the element of surprise you need.”

Potter smiled. “I think I’ve already got what I need. I just couldn’t see it.”

Right. I held out a hand and he shook it. “Well, if you’re ever in Chicago again, look me up, let me know how it went.”

“I will. And thank you again, Mr. Dresden.”

I couldn’t help it. I grinned. “Call me Harry.”

Posted in Crossovers, Gen, Harry Potter, The Dresden Files, The Dresden Files/Harry Potter | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: Surprise (HP/SGA, Carson/OC)

Author’s Note: Written for the OC/Genderbender ficathon, for Amy (Dragonsinger). Jane Carmichael was a character created jointly by me and Medie for a Harry Potter/Angel crossover that we ultimately never finished. When I got stuck on this ficathon story, Medie generously gave me permission to use her solo. Thanks also to Christina, for sparking this idea in the first place, being my cheerleader and helping me place Carson, and nostalgia for swallowing her pride and checking my Britishisms even though this isn’t her kind of fic.


“So this is where you’ve been hiding yourself of late,” an extremely amused, extremely familiar voice came out of nowhere, breaking the dead silence so unexpectedly that Carson jumped almost a foot into the air and nearly knocked the microscope he’d been staring into to the floor.

“Bloody hell!” He pivoted, staring in disbelief at the red-haired woman who had spoken, who was now wandering cheerfully around his infirmary, peering at and into everything that struck her fancy. “Jane? What in the Merlin’s name are you doin’ here? Nevermind that, how on Earth did you get here?”

Jane Carmichael, Auror, witch and general troublemaker grinned impishly at him, her eyes twinkling. “Simple locator spell and apparation, you ought to know that. Although I will confess the locator spell took a good deal longer than usual.”

“Aye, well there’s a damned good reason for that,” Carson shot back, exasperated. “And since when is it possible to apparate to another galaxy?”

“Oh is that where we are?” she replied casually, although the wandering immediately resumed with more genuine curiosity this time instead of just idle curiosity. “That would explain the architecture, not to mention why the locator made such a fuss when I asked it to find you.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he fretted, moving to herd her away from the more delicate equipment. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure where to herd her to, since the door was out of the question. “And I’ll have a bloody difficult time explainin’ if someone catches you here–”

“There you go, getting your knickers all up in a twist again,” she scolded him playfully, giving him a big hug and a sound kiss on the cheek. “I just wanted to see what you’ve been up to of late. Though when I imagined you playing muggle doctor, I confess this isn’t quite what I had in mind. Nor what the Ministry did either, I imagine.”

“You’re not plannin’ to tell them, I hope?” he pulled out of her embrace, holding her out at arm’s length with a pleading, panicked look in his eyes.

Hers twinkled right back at him. “You know, I ought to hold it over your head. Promise not to breathe a word to the ministry if you tell me what you’re doing in another galaxy, not to mention how and why. Else I reveal all with nary a compunction.”

Carson sighed heavily, knowing there was no way he was going to get out of this one even if she didn’t make her cooperation conditional upon it. “Bloody Gryffindors,” he muttered, giving her a pointed glare. “Always rushin’ in where angels fear to tread.”

“Says the Ravenclaw who’s practicing muggle medicine in the Andromeda Galaxy,” she shot back, her amusement at his expense not waning in the slightest. “It’s enough to make a girl wonder if the Sorting Hat made a mistake.”

“Pegasus Galaxy,” he corrected automatically, then took her shoulders in both his hands. “And how I ended up here is a long story, which I do mean to tell you eventually, just…not here and not now. I’ll contact you…though I’m not sure how, seein’ as how an owl could hardly make the trip even if I had one to send.”

She nodded briskly, her face sober for the first time since she’d appeared. Eyes that had been sparkling a moment ago were suddenly sad. “I truly didn’t mean to cause you any trouble, love. I just…you left without saying goodbye.”

Carson hung his head, letting it come to rest against hers. “I know, Janie, and I’m sorry. I just…couldn’t figure out what to say. How to tell you I might never be comin’ back, or that I was goin’ in the first place because they needed me and I couldn’t say no.” His fingers wandered up to trace her jaw, his thumb rubbing the corner of her mouth.

Jane smiled ruefully into his touch. “And top secret international muggle projects like this one probably haven’t much use for an ordinary old English bobbie.”

“Sadly, no. Especially when they don’t know just how ‘ordinary’ you aren’t.” He smiled in return, just as regretfully. “I don’t regret you found me, no matter what I might’ve said when you popped in here…”

“But I’d be hard to explain, just as when you were in Antarctica,” she agreed with a sigh. Laying both hands flat on his ribcage, she leaned in to give him a soft but intimate kiss. The twinkle returned to her eyes as she pulled back. “I’ll be on my way, then. But I intend to hold you to that explanation. Confidentiality agreements or no, I say it’s the least you owe me.”

He smiled. “If that’s all I owe you, love, you’ve let me off easy. Give Mum and Dad my love?”

“I will,” she agreed, grinning now. “And I promise, no more surprise visits.”

“At least not during the day,” he gave in with a modest shrug. “If you were to come at night, after the others have all gone to bed…I might be able to show you around Atlantis.”

Jane gasped, her eyes widening and her hand flying to her mouth. “Atlantis? Is that what this place is?”

His lips twitched into a victorious smile–now that had to be one of the first time in their entire acquaintance that he’d managed to surprise her. “Aye.”

“I understand now why you couldn’t say no,” she breathed, face shining with wonder.

They embraced once more, then Jane clasped his hand for one moment before stepping backwards…and vanishing. Carson let out a deep sigh, staring at the empty spot where she’d been. He missed her already, he just hadn’t realized how dearly until she’d come and gone.

Still…it was nice to know home might not be so far away after all.

“Dr. Beckett? Sorry to interrupt, but…” Lieutenant Ford’s voice trailed off as he stepped into the room and realized it was empty except for the doctor. “Oh…I thought I heard voices. Guess it was just my imagination.”

With a rueful smile, he deliberately turned to face the young man. “I suppose so. Now, what can I do for you, Lieutenant?”

Posted in Carson/OC, Crossovers, Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Stargate Atlantis, Het, Stargate Atlantis | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Fic: May I Have This Dance? (HP/SGA, Carson/OC)

He would have gotten there faster, of course, if it were possible to just apparate to Hogwarts, but that wasn’t possible at the best of times, and with the tournament security had been tightened even further. Since that extra security was, however, in a roundabout way the reason he was here, he forced himself to be content with apparating to Hogsmeade and taking a carriage up to the school itself, hoping that he remembered his anti-wrinkle charms well enough to prevent his robes from getting completely rumpled on the way.

Stepping into the ballroom, though, made it all worth it. He spotted her at once, of course, across the room. She was wearing an emerald green silk gown that hugged her slim figure like water, making her red hair gleam even brighter by contrast. Not that she was the only redhead in the room–with a passel of Weasleys about, that was impossible–but to Carson’s eyes, she might as well be.

He had almost reached her when she turned and their eyes met, a smile spreading quickly from the corners of her mouth all the way to eyes that brightened with a familiar teasing sparkle. “There you are. I’d begun to think I’d been stood up, or perhaps that some other witch had snatched you up.”

“Do you think so little of me then, love?” he scolded lightly in return, offering her his arm. “That you’d believe I could decline the opportunity to escort such the most beautiful lady I know to the social event of the season?”

Jane grinned. “Hardly. Though with all this talk of beauty, I begin to wonder if someone hasn’t laid a charm on you without your knowing. Perhaps I ought to warn Dumbledore–”

“I’ve not said anything I haven’t told you before,” he retorted.

Jane chuckled softly and laid her head on his shoulder. “No, but you’ll forgive me if a lifetime of conditioning makes it difficult to believe. I don’t doubt your sincerity…merely your objectivity.”

“I’ll be frank, Janie, I make no claim to objectivity as concerns you.” He smiled warmly at her. “Now. Am I safe to ask for a dance, or are you on duty?”

Jane lifted her head to glance surreptitiously around the ballroom. There were more than a few he recognized as aurors standing about, and likely a few undercover as well. And no wonder: not only was the Triwizard tournament one of the major events of the wizarding world–rather like the Muggle Olympics, only perhaps not so well represented outside of Europe–but this particular tournament had already had more than enough go wrong to warrant a bit of extra caution.

When she turned back to him, her eyes were full of a warmth that still amazed him as much as it had when they were both students and he’d seen for the first time the beautiful swan who hid inside the “Plain Jane.”

“I suppose one dance won’t hurt.”

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Fic: World Without End, Amen (HR, Tom/Sophie)

Dear Sophie,

Pinocchio told me shortly after we met that there is no God here. At first, I couldn’t believe it. I met him in a church, after all, even if had been converted to a bar. How could there be a church if there was no God?

But looking around me I begin to see what he means.

Even in our world, there are those who deny God’s existence, or those who don’t really care much whether he exists or not. Up until now, I had always considered myself one of the latter.

I was raised in the Presbyterian Church, as you know. I was baptized as a baby, confirmed as a young teenager and, like most members of my childhood Sunday School classes, I stopped attending church except on Christmas and Easter by the time I graduated from high school. After I joined the Army, subconsciously I decided that God had no place in my life, whether he existed or not. America was my God, and you, my Sophie, were my idol.

But the US Army is a jealous god, and they have punished me for my idolatry. They took me away from you, and sent me here; my penance is to be a reluctant messiah to the people of the world they created.

But what kind of savior can I be to these people when there is nothing that I can give them? They expect me to lead them to the real world, our world, but that is a promise not even God could keep. And I am no god, no matter what else they may believe me to be.

I can’t even offer them the one thing they so desperately need, hope of a better life. No heaven, not even the imperfect world that exists outside this simulation, is open to them.

And I can’t help but wonder, is the hope people cling to in our world similarly false? I read once, in a children’s novel, that heaven is like our world, only more real, more perfect. If that is so, than can our imperfect souls ever be accepted there?

My mother believed we could. I never understood the peace she had, even though a part of me always longed for it. She said it was her faith, but I had no place in my life for faith, even if it did give peace. So instead I searched for peace in war, hoping that by fighting for the freedom of the world I would find myself freed in the process. All I got for my trouble was a different kind of prison.

I never understood, until I came here, how desperately people need hope. I saw hopelessness in Bosnia, but it never touched me like this because I always had you and because even in the despair of that broken land the people always had a fragment of hope in the life beyond.

I still have you in my heart, but here in Harsh Realm, the only hope these people have is one that I know to be false. And for the first time in my life, I can’t help but hope that Mom was right. Might God not indeed have mercy on the imperfect souls he created and give them a way into his perfect heaven? And if he can do that, then maybe he can have mercy on these unreal souls created by his creation, and give them a real world to attain to, not just hope for.

After all, if he can’t, then who chose me, and what have I been chosen for? I need to be chosen, as selfish and arrogant as it sounds. Because when the despair of this place starts to invade me, that one hope might keep me alive long enough to make it home to you, my beloved.

If I can return to you and our child having achieved this, my life will never lack meaning.

I pray God, if he’s there, makes me worthy of the hope these people have placed in me. I need it as much as they do.

Have faith in me, Sophie, and in my homecoming. Have faith for me.

Forever your,

Tom

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Fic: To My Wondering Eyes Should Appear (HR, gen)

Author’s Note: Written for amaresu for the 12 days of Christmas meme. She requested: “Harsh Realm. Something to do with changes? Or something? (I admit it I just want more Harsh Realm fic.)” ama, this doesn’t have much to do with your prompt, but it is definitely Harsh Realm fic, even if only a short one. *g* Shamelessly inspired by both Mara’s “Season of Such Infinite Labor” and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.


“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Pinocchio stared in flat disbelief at the roof of the abandoned house they were driving past.

“It’s a glitch,” Hobbes suggested. “It has to be, doesn’t it? It’s not even December.”

Sure enough, once the bulky figure in red finally managed to get his left leg out of the chimney, he let out one final “Ho ho ho!” and promptly rezzed out.

Pinocchio pulled the car over to the side of the road and climbed out.

“Where are you going?” Hobbes called after him.

Pinocchio shrugged. “See if he left any presents.”

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Fic: Harsh Reality (HR, gen)

Author’s Note: Written right after “Leviathan” aired and before we found out any real details of Pinocchio’s past, so this was my theory. *g*


I haven’t lied to him, damn it. Everything I told him was true.

I just didn’t tell him everything.

It’s true that if you die in Harsh Realm, your brain will stop in the real world as well. Hell, doctors are only beginning to understand the power of the human mind–it only makes sense that the same brain that could keep someone alive through sheer will might die just from believing it was dying. Just the kind of damned logic the military would neglect to mention to the unfortunate souls they drop into this virtual hell.

And I wasn’t lying about the VCs, either. You kill them, they don’t come back in Harsh Realm, but that doesn’t affect the real person outside.

What I didn’t tell him is that you can die in the real world, and your virtual character will keep going in Harsh Realm. And if you’re lucky, you may never know.

Hobbes wants to know why Santiago scares me so much?

Because he killed me.

In the real world, I died a long time ago. I don’t even know how long ago–all I know is that I’m dead. And that bastard Santiago killed me. Just like he’d be happy to kill every fucking person in the whole fucking world, so he could conquer the globe by moving it into his little fantasy.

I’m a damned VC. The only problem is, I know it. I remember the world I’ll never be able to go back to, and I envy the lucky fucking bastards who don’t.

If I didn’t know, I could be just like one of the ignorant who only have this world to fear. But because, for a little while, I was plugged into the game, I know what I am. Like my fictional namesake, I’m a puppet who’s been brought to life, but unlike him, I have no hope of becoming a real boy. That’s why I faked my own death in Harsh Realm–it was the only way for me to stay alive–in any world.

Now Santiago knows I’m still playing this game, and he’s not gonna stop until he wipes me off the virtual map like he did the real one. That’s why he scares me.

But what I’m really afraid of, even more than Santiago, is my damned soul. I died, but I didn’t go to heaven, at least not as far as I know of. I got stuck here instead, which is probably the closest thing to hell that mankind could ever make.

So what happens to me if I die here? What happens to this soul caught in the mind of a soulless machine? Do I have any hope that my real soul will have a real afterlife, or did I lose that the minute I stepped out of reality? And if I didn’t, would heaven even want the man I’ve become, or would I be really damned to a hell worse than this one? I don’t ever want to find out.

I have to survive. But I’ll be damned if I ever tell Hobbes why.

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Fic: Compassion (HR, gen)

Author’s Note: This story was inspired by Megan’s query about what Pinocchio would be like if he were in love, although the original character in this story is in no way intended to be seen as a love interest for him. (I think Mike himself makes his feelings on that point pretty clear below.) I just wanted to explore a little more of the humanity Pinocchio tries to hide, like I did in “Harsh Reality.” 🙂


I’ll be damned if I know why we picked this one up.

I understand why Florence insisted on pulling Hobbes’ head out of the sand and dragging him along with us. She’s firmly convinced that he’s “The One” prophesied to save the Realm. Although, for the life of me, I still can’t figure out why a military video game has prophecies.

To be honest, I see it too. I mean, hell, anyone who can be here for as long as he has and not lose their soul at least a little bit is definitely something special. Even if he does piss me off with his naivete and idealism more often than not. He’s a clueless bastard, but that might be just what’ll let him succeed where the rest of us couldn’t.

And hell, at least he’s Real.

This kid–because she is a kid, and a damned young one for this place–is a VC. And what’s more, I think she knows it. Something about those phantasms in her eyes makes me think she knows exactly how pointless her existence is.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t leave her behind. The VCs who think that they can get into heaven because they don’t realize they have no souls, they annoy me. But this one I can’t help but pity.

Twenty-five years old and never known any world but this hell.

A week ago, I would have said she was lucky. She’ll never know what she’s missing. But something about those eyes stops me cold. Maybe it’s the way that little gold corona around the pupil looks like there was once a sun where there’s only an eclipse. Maybe it’s their salt-water green color that makes them look like they’re crying even when they’re not.

Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t felt this needed in a long time.

Florence doesn’t need me, she just keeps me around to help her with the dirty work. Or because she likes me for some unknown reason. Hobbes only needs me to pound an occasional dose of common sense into that love-and-honor, believe-the-best-of-everyone thick skull of his. Okay, so that’s a pretty big need in this place. But it’s still not the same–any other disillusioned soldier not under Santiago’s thumb could probably do the job just as well as me.

This girl needs me. I can’t explain why, but something in those eclipse eyes always says that there is no one else who could do this job.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I am not falling for this kid. For one thing, she’s ten years younger than me. That’s a pretty big gap, both in age and in experience. For another, when she’s not wrapped up in one of those damned morose spells that scare the hell out of me, she acts more like an obnoxious but tolerable little sister.

So it’s not love or lust that makes me keep dragging this damned VC with us everywhere we go ever since we found her. It’s something I would never have thought I could still have in me. Not after Desert Storm. And sure as hell not in Harsh Realm.

Guess I do know what I feel for the kid after all.

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