Work Text:
This can’t be happening, Macy thinks; everything within her is screaming that this is wrong. “And you’re exhausted, you can’t keep orbing,” she pleads.
“We should come with you, to help you fight!” Mel demands.
Harry, still out of breath but resolute, shakes his head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but this is between me and him.”
“Please don’t leave me!” Macy is just as caught off guard as both Mel and Harry look. She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, but there out there now and she doesn’t want to take them back. “Please,” she adds. Her ordeal is starting to actually catch up with her, and Macy begins shaking uncontrollably.
Both Harry and Mel step forward in alarm as Macy’s knees buckle, but Harry reaches her first, easily lifting her off her feet. “I’m sorry, love,” he murmurs, staring in wide-eyed shock at Mel. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise,” he vows, resting his cheek against the side of her temple. “Mel, can you make some tea? I’m going to take your sister to her room.”
“Of course,” Mel murmurs, reaching out to squeeze Macy’s arm. “You’re back,” she says firmly. “And don’t worry, we’ll get that asshole. Together,” she says, looking pointedly at Harry.
He says nothing, and when Mel releases Macy’s arm he orbs them both directly into her room. Harry’s dismayed as he realizes she’s still shaking, and when he eases her gently to her feet, Macy doesn’t move away. That suits Harry just fine; with her in his arms he knows Macy’s safe.
They remain in that position for minutes; silently Harry rubs her back while Macy struggles to regain control of her emotions. “I’m sorry,” she mutters into the lapel of his blazer.
“No,” Harry protests quickly. “It is I who should be apologizing,” he says. “I just wish I could have ended his life before he ever took you.” He swallows nervously, unconsciously tightening his arms around her, as if he can shield her from what he’s about to ask. “Did he… I mean to say had he-”
Macy lifts her head and sighs, shaking it briefly. “No, Harry; he didn’t force himself on me. At least, not like that,” she amends. “He seemed determined to seduce me, to have me pick him over you.”
Harry releases the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, nearly dizzy with relief. “I’m very glad,” he says, and raises a hand to her cheek. “You should rest; you look exhausted,” he says as he softly runs his thumb across the apple of her cheek.
Macy leans into his touch, bringing her hand up to cover his. She wants to close her eyes, but anything longer than a blink causes her chest to constrict. “I can’t,” Macy admits. “He had us in this enchantment that looked exactly like the manor; when I woke up I was in my bed. Or so I thought,” she adds. “I’m just afraid this is all a dream, and I’m still there, with him.”
Harry sighs. “What can I do?” he asks. “Tell me what you need, and I will gladly do it.”
“I need to get out of this dress,” Macy says, making no attempt to move away. “I had to pretend he was you so he would let me leave his side, and I suggested I change into this dress because I intimated it was his - your - favorite. He still labored under the impression that I had been fooled by his poor imitation, so he let me go and that’s when I discovered we were being cloaked and I was not in the manor.”
“It sounds harrowing, and I am forever grateful you are physically unharmed,” Harry murmurs.
Macy makes a noncommittal sound as she holds onto Harry’s forearm so she can bend to quickly remove her heels. She straightens to realize she’s shorter than him in her stocking feet. In his presence Macy doesn’t mind losing the psychological advantage heels bring her. It’s so easy to get lost in his eyes, she realizes; something occurs to her and she chuckles softly.
Harry tilts his head curiously. “What?” he asks.
“He really thought he could pass himself off as you,” Macy says.
Harry beats back the ire he feels; it’s so potent it tastes metallic in his mouth, and all he wants to do is return to that wretched penthouse and return the favor his dark doppelganger visited upon him, and sink a knife between his ribs. “I’m sorry for what you went through at the hands of that… monster,” he says.
Macy thinks back at the raw emotions warring openly on the face he shares with Harry. “He isn’t entirely a monster. How can he be? He's a part of you,” Macy reminds him.
As afraid as he is to hear the answer, Harry is also compelled to ask the question. “What is he like?” he asks.
She tightens her grip and unconsciously steps closer. “Bold. Charming,” she admits. “But so selfish and incredibly angry at nearly everything, even me. At times especially me.”
Harry watches Macy stare over his shoulder, like she can see him standing there. Her sad and wary expression makes his heart pound in his chest, and he hugs her to bring her back from wherever she went. It takes a moment, but eventually Macy wraps her arms around him tightly. “He is twisted and tortured by what had happened to him and you.”
Reluctantly he pulls back, his mind barreling down the road of what-if. “I wonder what my second life would have been if I had remained whole, or if I would have been selected at all.”
Macy’s eyes are soft when she looks at him. “Of course not,” she says, as if it should be obvious. “You wouldn’t have been under their thumb for over half a century if they hadn’t tried removing what they felt they could use. They didn’t want a person, they wanted a tool; and yet you still managed to eventually defy and outlive them.”
Harry’s smile is tight and more than a little sad. “I live, but I am not whole.”
“That is utter bullshit, Harry Greenwood,” Macy snaps, moving her head so he looks her in the eyes. “You are whole, do you hear me? Whole and alive,” she chokes off.
Immediately, Harry feels like a heel; this isn’t about him and his darklighter right now. This is about Macy, and helping her find her way back from a traumatic experience. Harry clears his throat and pointedly turns away from the whisperings of his selfish thoughts. “You’re right,” he says, unwilling to continue arguing. “How about a bath? I could run one for you, if you’d like,” he says, scrambling for anything else to talk about.
Macy looks at him, and for a moment Harry thinks she’s going to want to continue the discussion, but she droops a little, and he feels even worse for bringing up the subject.
She shakes her head. “I think I’m just going to shower,” Macy says, and hesitates.
“What?” Harry asks immediately. “I am utterly at your service tonight,” he reiterates.
Her smile is small, but there. “Harry…”.
He musters up what he feels should be a convincing facsimile of a reassuring smile. “What can I do for you?”
Macy sighs, conceding she doesn’t have the energy to argue. “...Can you stay with me? You don’t have to be in the bathroom,” she says hastily. “I just-” She trails off, clutching his forearm harder.
“You need to know you’re truly home, immediately,” he finishes, and Macy nods. “I am humbled you still trust me, and would be honored to sit out here to wait for you,” he reassures her.
“Thank you,” she says. “You can have a seat, I won’t be long.” Macy turns and presents her back. “Can you unzip me?” Her smile grows when she hears Harry’s audible swallow, and it’s another second before he moves.
“Of course,” he says, slowly lowering the zipper, mindful of the delicate nature of her dress.
The tension seeps out of Macy’s body as Harry’s knuckles slide down her back. She had been worried she’d feel unsafe around him, that his touch would remind her of his, that she would realize she can’t really tell them apart. She is utterly relieved to be proven wrong. When he’s finished Macy turns around and finds him with his eyes tightly shut. She doesn’t say anything but feels a rush of gratitude, and quickly gathers her pjs on her way to her ensuite.
Macy’s in and out of the shower in ten minutes, and even though she keeps telling herself she’s home, she realizes she’s almost panicking the longer the door between her and her bedroom remains closed. She yanks her tee shirt on and nearly kicks the door down, startling Harry from his seat, perched at the edge of her bed, on the chest that resides there.
“I’m still here,” he reassures her. “Hut eight.”
Macy’s already nodding; she knows it’s him, and she can see part of the night sky outside the windows. She crosses the room and yanks open the curtains as wide as she can, focusing on breathing in and out before she turns back to him. “I didn’t mean to surprise you, I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologize,” Harry says firmly. “None of this is your fault.”
“It’s not yours, either,” she points out.
With what he knows about their tendency to share at least an echo of the same emotion, Harry is not entirely sure, nor does he know how to broach that particular subject. Regardless of whether or not he will scrounge up the courage to do so, it absolutely isn’t happening tonight. Besides, after Macy finds out the origin of his darklighter’s obsession, she may never forgive him.
He rouses from his thoughts to find Macy staring dazedly at her own bed, and Harry’s heart drops when he realizes why she doesn’t just climb in. “You can sleep in the attic, with me,” he offers.
Macy snaps out of her memory and surprise must register on her face because Harry’s flushes red and he begins to stammer.
“I merely meant that if you were to wake in the middle of the night you wouldn’t have as much difficulty discerning the authenticity of your environment,” he says with a wince.
Macy can’t help but smile, and the dark feeling blooming in her chest recedes just a bit more. “Okay,” she says softly. “Are you sure? I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?”
Just from orbing back to New York and stabbing my darklighter to death. With enough conviction to choke a horse, he strives to look utterly appalled at the very notion. “Absolutely not,” Harry says, knowing he’s laid it on a bit thick when Macy’s expression morphs from concern to vague skepticism. “I can say, with absolute certainty, I cannot imagine anywhere I would rather be.”
She searches his face, and must find what she’s looking for because Macy nods again and grabs her pillows and takes his offered arm with a small smile. On the way to the attic they have to pass her sister’s rooms, and Mel and Maggie’s doors are open. Harry catches the near identical curiosity in both their faces at a pajama-clad Macy walking past their doors, but neither protest or impede their journey, and Harry is infinitely grateful.
He closes and locks the attic door behind him, and pretends to not notice when Macy tries the lock herself. Shifting the attic from day to night is quick and easy enough, and it takes Harry less than five minutes to turn down the futon in a manner that would make a five star hotel proud. Good thing, too, because he sees the exhaustion settling heavily on Macy and she nearly sways on her feet.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, and Harry bites back audible concern when he feels the tremble has returned to her limbs as he helps her into the bed and beneath the covers. Once Macy is settled he goes to move away but she reaches out and grabs his hand. “I’m still here,” he responds quickly as he squeezes her hand.
Macy’s eyes flutter as she fights against sleep with the energy hypervigilance hadn’t robbed her of just yet. “Can you stay until I fall asleep Harry?” she asks, voice thick and cadence slow with oncoming slumber.
“I will not leave your side,” he vows, sitting on the bit of bed between her prone form and its edge, her hand still in his. Harry watches Macy fall asleep between one breath and the next, but does not move the entire night.
He keeps his word; when she opens her eyes Harry’s exhausted smile swims into focus and it clicks.
Everything is going to be okay.
Macy is home.