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“I come bearing caffeinated motivation,” Harry drawled as he came down the steps into Witch Central Command.
Macy glanced up at him. She was trying very hard not to stare. Not to catalogue differences in his stance and his every gesture and expression. Not make things worse. He handed Macy her coffee with a slight smile—the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle even if his lips only slightly moved—then set two cups by Maggie, who was sitting at the desk where Harry normally did his research, before picking up his own and taking a sip as he leaned over a book.
Then, as Maggie opened the lid on her tea to blow on it, she hesitated. “Is this yours? I’m the only one who drinks honey-lavender breakfast tea, but I didn’t think you even liked coffee.”
“I…”
It shouldn’t have been a difficult question. And yet, ever since Harry had been forced to remerge with his Darker half, gaining all of his old memories as James, there had been increasingly more moments when Harry had been caught up fast between colliding personas. Macy had seen him staring in bafflement at a sweater vest, as though it were some inexplicable artifact of another world. He hesitated when making them breakfast, and she knew that he was likely remembering what it was like to cook on some creaking old monstrosity that you had to drop matches in to light the burners.
“I like—“ Harry began. “I do like tea, don’t I? I do… Don’t I?” He rolled his eyes and looked at his cup derisively. “Either way. Tea is soothing, and I wish to be tense,” he nearly snapped.
“Said every British student studying in America, I’m sure,” Macy said, with a light tease in her voice. “You got my order right. Caffeine and lots of it.”
Harry’s smile was quick this time, and it didn’t reach his eyes.
The little things weren’t so important. Not to her, not to her sisters. It was simply that every time Harry’s more current self, 60 years of being a Whitelighter, conflicted with James’s memories or his Darklighter’s instincts, the uncertainty in the air grew thicker. It didn’t matter that Macy was sure that he was still their Harry… with some added attitude, sometimes. He wasn’t sure that he was still their Harry. Still worth being their Whitelighter, having all these human flaws and distractions.
Mel had said it best, though. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Do you see anyone else lining up to orb us around and heal us?”
Macy wished she could be so blunt with him about this. That was yet another reason it was her Harry—Their Harry. She’d ever had to worry about how Dark Harry had felt about things. He just didn’t feel much. He couldn’t. He wasn’t a bad person (in spite of the… murder), so much as he wasn’t a person at all. Not in the way Harry had been before the merge. Dark Harry was just the remnants of Harry’s personality that the Elders had decided would be a hindrance in being a Whitelighter. And into the jar these scraps went along with James Westwell’s memories. Leaving the Darklighter unable to fully love, to really have much of a sense of humor or care at all, in spite of his attachment to Macy and her sisters, and leaving Harry unable to, well, really get very angry with his charges, or think about himself as a priority.
Maggie mouthed a “sorry” to Macy as she got up to pull some papers into order for a meeting she had today. When her hand touched Harry’s shoulder, he flinched slightly. Because being in a jar for sixty years does nothing for anyone’s social skills.
“I apologize for snapping, Maggie,” he said.
“No problem. I have my honey lavender. Let’s hope today’s a good one up there.” Maggie caught Macy’s eye again, trying to communicate something with her eyebrows.
Macy frowned at her and shooed her little sister off. She and Mel had been so weird around them lately.
“If we weren’t on the brink of a war, I’d consider letting you girls get a vacation from me,” Harry said quietly. “You really deserve one.”
“We don’t want you gone. Harry.” Macy stared at him hard until he looked up to meet her eye. “You know that. We need you here.”
“I’m hardy as useful to you as I was. Even with his powers as a boost.”
“No one’s existence is solely valued by how useful you are.” Macy’s hand moved instinctively to touch his forearm. “Or it shouldn’t be.”
Harry looked at her hand, and to her relief, he didn’t pull away. He put his hand over hers and sighed. “Whether it should be, or not, that’s my purpose. It’s why the Elders brought me back. Certainly not because I was such a stellar person when I was alive.”
A pang of loss clenched Macy’s stomach as Harry retreated, standing to walk over to the main control panel.
“Don’t do that, Harry.” Macy followed him, holding both of their coffees and set his down in front of him. “Not to me. I know this is hard for you—“
“You don’t.” His head turned and he looked at her sternly.
“I don’t? I have darkness in me, too. And you’ve never look down on me for it. You’ve had faith in me that I can control it most of the time. I just wish you’d been able to decide this for yourself, like I did, how you wanted to handle it.” Macy shook her head. “I remember what it felt like, when I first found out, that crawling feeling, how I couldn’t stand the thought of it being in me.”
“It isn’t the same.”
“Harry—“
“I hurt you!” Harry took a step back, as though he’d startled himself.
“The Darklighter,” Macy whispered. “I know.”
“I kidnapped you. I shot you. I manipulated you. I tormented you!” Harry’s hands clasped shut and released a few times. “I’ve killed people. Scared Maggie at her father’s grave-side. I’ve done unforgivable things. Even forgetting James, I’m… I’m not sure how to be this.” He gestured to himself. “Whatever this is now.”
Harry glanced at their cups sitting next to each other. “I don’t trust myself around you. And frankly, I question your judgment in wanting to spend time with me.”
“Well, that’s a bit patronizing.” Macy crossed her arms.
“I did die in 1957.” Harry rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and put his hands on his hips. His annoyance would have been cute, if he weren’t so distressed. “Fine. You’re right. And there’s a good part of me that knows better than that. Got a bleeding degree in knowing better.”
“I’m very aware what your Darklighter did to me. I also know that you definitively proved that you’re stronger than he was. And I’m smart enough to be careful.” Macy stepped closer to him. “I know you don’t trust yourself, but can you trust me?”
Harry sighed heavily. “I believe… If I were to trust anyone.” His eyes lifted, round and gentle and hopeful, and all at once he was so familiar it ached. “It would have to be you.”
He hung his head a little and looked away. “It’s not fair to you, putting that on you.”
“You would take it on for me in a heartbeat,” Macy said certainly.
“You don’t know me like you used to. James was a very selfish, messy man.”
“If you’re saying you wouldn’t put yourself on the line for us, that I don’t believe. Not for a second.” Macy shrugged and moved closer to him. His eyes moved up her form, and his cheeks were beginning to burn. Macy smiled softly. “But I’d like to get to know who you are now. And I miss you.”
A long silence stretched between them. His lips were parted slightly, and his eyes… They were soft like Harry, and his brows lowered intensely like his Darklighter. Macy’s heart sped up, recognizing the mix of emotions: worry, affection, and want.
“I’ve missed you, too,” Harry admitted finally.
“Do you want to take a break?” Macy tilted her head toward the table. “Take the coffee on the road?”
Harry started to nod, but then looked at the screen. “But Mel—“
“Isn’t on a dangerous mission, and would be annoyed if you implied she couldn’t handle this,” Macy insisted. “Anyway, you’ll hear her if she needs you.”
Macy took a piece of paper, wrote down a short explanation of where they’d be, and set Mel’s coffee on top of the note. Then, she took her own coffee and held out her hand for Harry.
“C’mon,” she urged.
Finally, Harry returned her smile and seemed to relax a little. He picked up his cup and took her hand. Warmth spread through her chest at the touch. She’d missed his rough hands, his scent. Once they’d reached the outside, Harry looked up into the sky and tented his brows. Macy glanced over at him, watching the sunlight warm his face.
“So what type of coffee does new you like?” Macy asked. She kept her tone light, but it was less of a risk than some questions. His Darklighter probably hadn’t spent much time at Starbucks.
Harry looked at his cup. “Some kind of dark roast.”
“Is it different than it used to be? Was James into lattes?”
Harry clicked his tongue. “He drank it black. Often with whiskey. Funny to drink it Irish, when I’m from Manchester.”
Macy thought about that for a moment and how prone Harry was to overdoing things at parties. Would he be open to help in that area, or should she wait for him to ask?
“I can’t say I don’t like tea. It’s the ritual of it, you know. I didn’t know anything about myself when I started as a Whitelighter. Other than my accent. It seemed natural to start drinking tea.”
“You did for a long time.” Macy drank hers. A triple-shot Americano. “But you can’t beat coffee in the morning. For me, anyway. It’s a whole different ritual. You have this big day ahead of you, so many things that need your attention, and this warm cup of liquid energy you can wrap you fingers around and take into you, filling you up with all you need to get started.”
Harry chuckled. “You feel quite deeply about your coffee.” He paused as they approached a stretch of greenery on the sidewalk. “Are you sleeping better?”
“I am, actually. Which is dumb. We still have this whole Overlord thing to deal with.” Macy leaned back against the building into the shade.
Harry nodded. “One step at a time,” he advised.
“And celebrate your victories,” Macy said.
Harry’s brows shot up. “This is a victory?”
Macy held up her hands. “Not for you, I know. I was just so scared, when you two merged. That I wouldn’t recognize you anymore. I know that you’re struggling, and I know that you’re different, but… You won. You’ve stayed more you than not. And when I look at you, I-I see…”
“What do you see?” Harry tilted his head to the side.
“I don’t see James. And I don’t see the Darklighter. Most of the time, it’s just… Harry. And I’m sorry you’re hurting so much, but the thought of losing you like that—“ Macy pressed her lips together.
Then, she leaned forward and put her arms around Harry. And he stiffened at first, and that hurt. But then he leaned into her, pressing his face into her hair and relaxing against her body.
“I understand,” he murmured.
Just as Macy was about to pull back, she could feel his heart pounding against her chest, his strong arms squeezing her more tightly. A shiver went up her spine, but she ignored it. This was the closest he’d let her get since that night, and she wasn’t letting go before he did.
When Harry finally released her, his brow was furrowed. Macy wished she could fix this with one of their hugs, or one of their talks, or maybe some vodka and goofy 90s genre television. Unfortunately, and she knew this well, hurts like this took time to heal.
As they started walking again, though, Harry’s shoulders were a bit more relaxed, and Macy had just a bit more hope that he would reach out to her when he need someone to steady him. Things wouldn’t be exactly the same as they had been, but Macy was sure that with some work they could have that closeness again that was just everything to her. And, she knew, even if Harry’s fear meant he tried to deny himself, it meant the world to him as well.