I choked.
No one talked. The fire crackled.
They waited.
My friends waited on me.
One of the best things you can do for a friend is wait. Sometimes for them to understand something. Sometimes for them to decide on something. But mostly, to give them some quiet. Some space to put thoughts together. Some space to talk.
“When Karrin died,” I said finally, focusing on the fire, “I wasn’t right. I didn’t…I didn’t act right.”
Silence.
Fire popping and crackling.
“I tried to do something terrible,” I said after a while. “And when myfriends stopped me, I was so angry that I was an absolute asshat about it. And I hurt you both.”
“Mainly me,” Sanya noted.
“Mainly you,” I agreed. “But I made you both have to make a really tough choice. And I tried to hurt you when you were trying to help me. I was wrong to do that. I’m sorry, guys. I wanted to tell you that. And I wanted to thank you for stopping me from…well. From killing Rudolph. I would have if you hadn’t intervened. And I don’t know if I could have handled Maggie’s father being a murderer. So, thank you.”
Companionable quiet.
Crackle of fire.
“Bozhe moi, Dresden,” Sanya said finally. “It was war. And you lost her. Terrible time. Terrible place. Terrible decisions go hand in hand,da? And we are only men.” He swigged some ale. “Though now that I know how dirty you are capable of fighting, I do not think it will happen again.”
“It won’t,” I said firmly, and nodded my head at him more deeply than was customary. “It won’t.”
“How’s the arm?” Butters asked me quietly.
I rolled up my sleeve and showed him the burn from the Sword. It had taken months, but it had healed into an angry red scar. It still hurt when I got tired or upset. Real pain, not the vague staticky sensation the Winter mantle allowed through. “Fine,” I said.
Butters winced at the injury and then at my face. “Harry. I mean, you know I didn’t want to hurt you, right?”
“I know, man. You did good.”
The smaller man gave me a pained smile. He offered his bottle. We clinked and drinked.
More quiet.
More companionable drinking.
My chest easing, so much.
“So,” Sanya said, drawing the word out. “Dresden. You and Lara.”
“It’s political,” I said. “Strictly political.”
There was a beat.
Then they all started snickering at me. Just snickering.
“Hah hah, guys,” I said, feeling the smile stretching over my face.
Because there are two times when you give a man a hard time. First, when you want to start trouble with him. And second, when he’s your brother, and you do it because you want him to know that everything is okay.
I was among brothers.
