Hello everyone, and welcome to my first Dresden Files fic. This is really just to help my writer's block and get this out of my head, but feel free to enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize - if I did, I would be off at a book signing and making a tidy sum of money with a certain TV series on SciFi Channel... but no.

Warnings: None really, though I suppose it could be seen as slash if you squint hard enough. Still... not really.

The Dresden Files - TV Version - One Shot

Glad You Here

Bob's POV:

A scream rang out into the shadowy confines of the house, breaking the dead silence. My head shot up and my arm jerked in surprise, etching a long, jagged line through all of my shimmering equations (effectively turning an invisibility poition into a hair-growth tonic). I sighed, partly out of annoyance but mostly out of worry. This was the third time this month this had happened.

I strode out of the room, fasing through the thick metal door of the hidden room (the only thing that satisfied my paranoid soul), up through the loft towards Harry's bed.

There he sat against the headboard, curled up in a fetal position cradling his head in his hands, whispering to himself frantically. I stood by the side, and called out to him gently,

"Harry... Harry, wake up, it's just a dream..."

Still, the wizard mumbled anguishedly to himself. I could just make out the words, the same ones as always for the last five years,

"Oh god, it's all my fault...I killed him, hes dead, I killed him..."

"Harry!" I said louder, "Wake up!"

My former student's head jerked up, and I had to suppress a flinch - his normally clear, icy blue eyes were bloodshot and wet, and the pupil was like a pinprick in an ocean of terrified dark blue.

"Harry.." I soothed, my voice low and soft as if talking to an injured animal, "It was just the dream again. You're home, in Chicago, you're safe."

The wizard let out a choked, painful sob.

"God, Bob... I killed him, Bob... His blood is on my soul... his dirty blood..."

"Harry," I sighed, all my regrets laced into that one word, "this has to stop. Your guilt is dragging you down, and sooner or later, you're not going to be able to fight it's weight. It will kill you."

"Well, what can I do, Bob?!" He snapped angrily, though I knew that it wasn't directed at me, but himself. "I think about it all the time! I can't stop. Ever time I try to focus on something else, it sneaks up on me... I just can't stop..."

The situation was grey and bleak;as many things in Harry Dresden's life often were. I could not help but think of this as Justin Morningway's last curse. A curse of guilt. A taint of darkness upon Harry's once pure-white soul - like a scar on once flawless skin. I could think of only one remedy - to lighten the atmosphere, to bring a little color to Harry's grey.

"Settle down." I. in all of my worlock wisdom, replied, "Stop fighting, find a pretty bint, sire a brat or five, and settle." It was the only thing I could think of - I knew that dispite (or perhaps because,) of Harry's rather chivalrous way of thinking, my ocasional 'perversion' amused him. If only I could gain a cheap laugh, it would be worth my efforts.

Harry's eyes widened, and he extended one hand to search the opposite side of the bed, patting down the sheet frantically. He found nothing, and his eyes lowered to an apathetic half-mast.

"Bob... where is Nina?" He questioned me in a small voice.

I winced with dread; Nina was the wizard's newest intimate 'relation'. A young, vivacious brunette that had stumbled in with a missing item's case, last week, and waltzed out with a blushing Harry and a dinner date.

Inevitable as it seemed with every woman Harry had ever gotten involved with, he would end up with his heart broken. It was always I that was there for him after one of his painful break-ups or guilt-ridden nightmares, when he was hardly lucid enough to do more than sob into his pillow. It saddened me that his support system consisted wholly of one cranky, not-even-there spirit, and nothing, no one, else.

"I'm sorry, Harry." I said eventually, "It seems she has gone." I grimaced at the words - yes, she had gone, just like everyone else. Everyone but me, I supposed, but I hardly counted.

He balled up again. Closed up, like a turtle in it's shell, but my ghostly heart knew he would open up had always been too open - too vulnerable, with all of his kind emotions and impulses, even after being jaded from his own dark experiences. He could never resist the idea of comfort - the comfort of doing the right thing, or comfort in the arms of another being - of giving it or taking it. Even at the risk of heartbreak.

"Why do they always go, Bob?" he whispered, and I knew if I mentioned it later he would deny it, but his tone was weak and shaking - almost pleading.

"Am I so... unlovable?"

"No!" I nearly shouted, furious at myself letting it get this far, letting him sink this deep in his guilt.

"Don't talk like that, Harry Dresden! You will find someone for you, someone perfect. Nina just... wasn't that person."

"Bob?" Harry questioned. He sounded like a timid child, and his hands wrung his sheets into ropes. "Was... was Winifride your perfect person?"

I felt my heart constrict with age-old pain. My love's memory, and death, was still fresh and deep, even after all these years. Centuries... it could have been eons, for how fast the years had passed - and by that, of course, he meant crawlingly, agonizingly slow.

But Harry deserved this comfort.

"Yes," I said quietly, "she was, very much so. One day, you may have love as deep and pure as ours was... and still is." The words tasted bitter and wrong to my mouth - I myself was far from pure. However, there was no doubt of the purity of Winifride's and my love - if one thing was pure about me, it would be that.

The young man looked at me with half-closed eyes, and I knew he would soon fall back into unconsciousness.

"I wish I knew a way to get you back to her... you 'ould be happy then, righ'? 'Cause I wan' you to be happy..." he slurred out to me through his sleepy haze.

"Harry..." I whispered, stunned. Finally, I managed, "Those are dangerous thoughts."

Harry looked as if he didn't hear me. He lifted a large, pale hand, and allowed it to flop over and through, my own in an impotent embrace. I could almost imagine the feeling of warmth radiating from his rough palm, and I could most certainly feel his lifesource and magic, strong, bright, vibrant and innocent, but laced with guilt and sadness, and the faintest traces of darkness.

"Bu' I wouldn' be happy... 'cause yer my friend... 'm fam'ly... you keep me grounded... and... I'm glad you're here... Bob..."

'...glad you're here, Bob... glad you're here... glad...'

"Harry... I am... I am glad to be here. Dispite everything."

I looked back down at the bed to gauge my charges' reaction, a scoff and sarcastic remark ready in my throat at the smallest hint of a snicker, but was met with soft snoring. Harry was already asleep, his premature lines from years of too much stress, and a small amount from smiling, were smoothed by the relaxation of deep sleep.

I felt a serene smile stretch my face.

In the morning Harry would awaken from his too-short sleep, with bruised black bags under his eyes and liquid-paper white skin. He would never mention this conversation - his memory would be hazed with sleep depravation and depression over his latest misstresses' speedy departure.

I, however, would never forget.

Enjoy? If yes, good, if not... well, screw you!

I have no burning desire for reviews, as this was only an aid for my writer's block, but feel free to leave your opinions at the button.

Sensibly,

ScathingSarcasm