raith_rogue | To Kill a Puck, confab time

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To Kill a Puck, confab time

Thomas parked his car in an empty space along the curb just down the street from Harry's place, and headed off to meet his brother as requested. He knew it was about Robin, though nothing more specific than that, and he was just a little bit anxious, in case Harry had bad news. Harry often seemed to have bad news, generally of the giant sharp teeth and claws variety, but Thomas already knew this problem involved that variety of bad news, so at least it wouldn't be much different from now.

He jogged down the steps to Harry's basement apartment, pulling out the pendant Harry had given him to disarm the wards, then knocking once before he opened the door. "Harry?" he called as he turned to shove the door firmly closed behind him.

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"Working on a new bracelet for your boyfriend," Harry answered. He moved across the room to peer up at Thomas through the hole in the floor. "You want to help?"

Thomas rolled his eyes and twitched his foot in a lazy kick in Harry's general direction. "He is not my boyfriend, and not if it involves coming down there, I don't." Besides, his magical skill was rudimentary and rough compared to Harry's.

"Don't tell me you're afraid." Harry glanced up again, eyebrows raise, taunting.

"Afraid of what, your lab?" Thomas scoffed. "Not remotely. I just don't like it." Or the skull. The skull weirded him out a little. "Besides, you wanted to talk, not consign me into slave labor. That's what the hot apprentice is for."

Harry rolled his eyes and snorted softly before climbing up the ladder. "That's what being an apprentice is," he replied, dryly. "You want a beer?" He headed to the kitchen, glancing at his brother over his shoulder.

"Don't I always?" Thomas got fluidly to his feet and trailed after Harry, lounging against the counter.

Harry looked Thomas over, from his perfectly styled hair and smooth cheeks to his crisp white shirt that didn't seem to have any sweat stains down to his unlaced motorcycle boots that would have no doubt tripped Harry before he got anywhere.

Then he looked down at himself.

Today's ensemble was a thin green t-shirt and baggy green cargo pants with lots of pockets (useful when spellworking). It was hot, and he was indoors, so he wore flip flops. And so he hadn't brushed his hair today. Or this week. Or shaved.

Whatever.

he scowled a little as he handed Thomas a beer and retrieved one for himself. "How do you look like that?" he asked, frankly.

Thomas took a pull of beer and sighed in contentment. "Effortlessly," he replied with a smirk, straightening to wander toward Harry's threadbare couch now that he had his beer in hand.

Harry snorted and followed Thomas to his sitting room/living room/everything room, and claimed his recliner. "We are so not related," he muttered.

"Sure we are. I just got the pretty genes, and you got the scary wizard ones." Thomas smiled fondly at Harry despite the comment, though the smile slowly faded to seriousness. "So. What did you want to talk about?" he asked after they were both settled comfortably.

Harry flashed a brief smile in return. Their mother had been both incredibly beautiful and an incredibly powerful wizard, though he'd have liked to have gotten a little more in the looks department. "Your boyfriend," he answered. Because the more Thomas protested he wasn't, the more Harry was going to insist he was. "I think he knows who's after him," he confided.

"Call him that again and there's going to be a scary wizard with a black eye," Thomas warned him, glaring. "Why do you think that?" Thomas suspected Harry may be right on this one, but he wanted to hear his brother's reasoning, make sure they were on the same page.

Harry smirked at Thomas's reaction, but he took the question seriously. "Just a feeling. Someone broke into his house--did he tell you? He called after and didn't exactly seem surprised." He shrugged. "Then there's the fact that I don't exactly trust him...."

"I trust him," Thomas retorted coolly. "Of course, that doesn't mean I don't believe he's keeping something from us." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'll see what I can find out." Though how he'd get Robin to talk was beyond him.

Harry rolled his eyes a little at Thomas's tone and took another swig of beer. "Thanks. I'm sure he'd rather have you interrogate him than me."

"He's also more likely to tell me anything," Thomas added with a faint smirk, then took a long swig of his beer--which gave him an idea. It would take a lot of alcohol, though.

"Um. Right," Harry said, awkwardly. "Things said in the heat of passion and...all that."

"That wasn't what I meant," Thomas told him patiently. "He just likes me better."

Harry snorted. "Gee, I wonder why."

"Maybe because I'm not a jerk to him." Thomas was getting a little tired of Harry's attitude toward Robin. He'd understood at first, neither of them trusted easily, but while Robin could be obnoxious, he was still a pretty likeable person. Hell, Harry could be pretty damn obnoxious himself.

"And maybe it's because you fuck him," Harry shot back. His eyes met Thomas's for a moment and then he looked away, almost guiltily, and drained his beer bottle.

Thomas stiffened, looking shocked and maybe even a little hurt--for all of half a second. Then he relaxed into the couch and took a long drink. "Maybe," he agreed evenly, flashing Harry a tight smile. "Whatever the reason, my methods will work better than yours." He drained the rest of the beer and sat forward, thumping it on the table as he got ready to leave.

Harry looked down at his hands, and as Thomas made to stand up, put his hand out to stop him. "Hey," he said, quietly. "That was an asshole thing to say," he smiled wryly. "Even for me."

Thomas shrugged, returning the wry smile. "Yeah. But it was probably true," he replied, suppressing a sigh.

For reasons unknown to Harry he kept his hand on Thomas's wrist, and his expression turned frustrated, almost indignant. "Do you really need me to say it?"

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