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The sharing impulse appears to be strong in me right now, so the few of you who care are going to get a snippet of this nearly every day. Here's the Harold and Grace in the Park bit:
*
"Harold?" came John's voice. "You ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be, Mr. Reese. But oh dear, she has no sense of personal security whatsoever, going to meet a strange man with a dog and a mysterious thing to give her--"
"She trusts me, Harold. It's… refreshing. If not unique. Has she left the house yet?"
"No… yes. Here she comes." Harold gulped in air, added: "I think I'm panicking."
"It adds to your ineffable charm. Good luck. I won't be listening."
"No, John; wait, I--" but the line was dead.
He'd already turned off the phone alarm; it had felt like slicing through a safety belt in advance of a crash. So there was nothing to listen to as she approached other than his own pounding heart, birdsong, the noises of the city, children screeching across the park. Bear was alert but not radiating protective aggression, although certainly he must sense Harold's fear. It was a familiar feeling, as strongly associated with Grace now as longing was. He'd rationalized it as fear for her, as if contact with him would slap an immediate target on her back, flashing neon, horns blaring, drawing in enemies. But it was also fear for himself: self-preserving instinct like throwing up a shield against a knife or stepping behind bullet-proof glass.
He was wide open now. "Blijf, Bear," he said, and stood up as Grace spotted him.
"Are you John's friend?" she called out, and then she stopped dead in utter shock.
"Yes," he said, to say something, to stop her from speaking, to get both of them breathing again. "Yes. I'm John's friend." He'd never actually defined himself that way before; he thought he'd have to do it more often. "This is Bear," he added.
Grace looked at Bear, then back at Harold, as if she couldn't quite reconcile the pair of them. "You're alive," she said, and then immediately, "Stupid. What did we used to say? Not Captain Obvious but Major-General Obvious. 'You're home!' 'You got dinner!' 'You're alive!'" She took a step closer. "Oh, God, Harold. You're not dead. Where have you been?"
"Here. All along. Well, not in the park. Not more than once a week, anyway." He was dangerously close to babbling. "I had to go, Grace. I'm so sorry. I promise to explain, as much as I can--"
"You had damn well better," she said, sounding very fierce for a second, and then the fluster came back. She glanced at Bear again; he looked up, hopefully, probably assessing her as a source of treats. "You have a dog," she added: an accusation of deep betrayal.
"Yes, well. People do. He's John's, really. Well, we share him."
"You share a dog. How… how do you know John?"
How do I know thee, let me count the ways. "We work together."
*
The "John's friend" thing is a trick I've used before, most memorably in the last of the Snape/Vorkosigan crossovers when Snape met Miles for the first time and said "You're Mark's brother." Which I have to say is one of my darlings forever.
Also, I appear to have given Grace's father a career in the CIA (or some such) which on consideration makes all the sense in the world.
Oh, and linkage: interview with Carrie Preston, with video at the bottom of the page, CP and ME at the time they were shooting "Til Death." (They are so adorable together. I have to make a concerted effort to keep their real selves out of my head while writing this OH DEAR THE HORROR AND BETRAYAL melodrama. Or, I don't know, maybe it helps.)
ETA: I finally made the explicit musical association that's been tugging at me for a while: Grace, meet Sierra Hull. And also this one. (And also the ones where she's more pissed off. I have Thoughts about Grace, you know...)
*
"Harold?" came John's voice. "You ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be, Mr. Reese. But oh dear, she has no sense of personal security whatsoever, going to meet a strange man with a dog and a mysterious thing to give her--"
"She trusts me, Harold. It's… refreshing. If not unique. Has she left the house yet?"
"No… yes. Here she comes." Harold gulped in air, added: "I think I'm panicking."
"It adds to your ineffable charm. Good luck. I won't be listening."
"No, John; wait, I--" but the line was dead.
He'd already turned off the phone alarm; it had felt like slicing through a safety belt in advance of a crash. So there was nothing to listen to as she approached other than his own pounding heart, birdsong, the noises of the city, children screeching across the park. Bear was alert but not radiating protective aggression, although certainly he must sense Harold's fear. It was a familiar feeling, as strongly associated with Grace now as longing was. He'd rationalized it as fear for her, as if contact with him would slap an immediate target on her back, flashing neon, horns blaring, drawing in enemies. But it was also fear for himself: self-preserving instinct like throwing up a shield against a knife or stepping behind bullet-proof glass.
He was wide open now. "Blijf, Bear," he said, and stood up as Grace spotted him.
"Are you John's friend?" she called out, and then she stopped dead in utter shock.
"Yes," he said, to say something, to stop her from speaking, to get both of them breathing again. "Yes. I'm John's friend." He'd never actually defined himself that way before; he thought he'd have to do it more often. "This is Bear," he added.
Grace looked at Bear, then back at Harold, as if she couldn't quite reconcile the pair of them. "You're alive," she said, and then immediately, "Stupid. What did we used to say? Not Captain Obvious but Major-General Obvious. 'You're home!' 'You got dinner!' 'You're alive!'" She took a step closer. "Oh, God, Harold. You're not dead. Where have you been?"
"Here. All along. Well, not in the park. Not more than once a week, anyway." He was dangerously close to babbling. "I had to go, Grace. I'm so sorry. I promise to explain, as much as I can--"
"You had damn well better," she said, sounding very fierce for a second, and then the fluster came back. She glanced at Bear again; he looked up, hopefully, probably assessing her as a source of treats. "You have a dog," she added: an accusation of deep betrayal.
"Yes, well. People do. He's John's, really. Well, we share him."
"You share a dog. How… how do you know John?"
How do I know thee, let me count the ways. "We work together."
*
The "John's friend" thing is a trick I've used before, most memorably in the last of the Snape/Vorkosigan crossovers when Snape met Miles for the first time and said "You're Mark's brother." Which I have to say is one of my darlings forever.
Also, I appear to have given Grace's father a career in the CIA (or some such) which on consideration makes all the sense in the world.
Oh, and linkage: interview with Carrie Preston, with video at the bottom of the page, CP and ME at the time they were shooting "Til Death." (They are so adorable together. I have to make a concerted effort to keep their real selves out of my head while writing this OH DEAR THE HORROR AND BETRAYAL melodrama. Or, I don't know, maybe it helps.)
ETA: I finally made the explicit musical association that's been tugging at me for a while: Grace, meet Sierra Hull. And also this one. (And also the ones where she's more pissed off. I have Thoughts about Grace, you know...)
