"I think you're starting to warm up to fiction. Admit it, you love to hear about bad things happening to Harry Potter."
"Look, it's just awfully convenient that if you don't like Harry Potter, no one else in the book does either. I can't believe it takes so many books to kill him, though. There are so many windows to throw him out of!"
"How well can he fly? Just tie some rocks to him. Then throw." "You learned all the wrong lessons from our field trip," your dad says thoughtfully.
You lean forward curiously, wince, and lean back again. "Did you defenestrate someone? Tell me the story!"
"I just went as a bomb sniffer dog, I jumped on a chap who had a bomb. It was a perfectly straightforward mauling, because I am efficient." Your dad laughs at you, then launches into the story of what had apparently really been going on, which is a harrowing high-stakes international affair rife with backstabbings and betrayals and intricate recursions of counter-intelligence. Most of the words make sense on their own, but in aggregate you're very quickly lost. "And then I jumped on the guy," you put in at the one point you recognize. "And then you jumped on the guy," your dad says. He ruffles your hair proudly and you beam.
You, in contrast, not only understand every word, but can tentatively connect it with non-classified events you've read about. You're fascinated. Breathlessly enthralled. Considering begging to be his apprentice. And then Erskin does that, and his proud smile melts you like a popsicle in June. "And you were how old? Well, no wonder you came back for me even though for all you knew the hunter was still alive and freshly reloaded. Nerves of steel run in the family."
Your face heats. "It's easier to be brave when you're young, you don't think about how badly things could go."
"Yeah. Yeah, I guess you're right. That just makes it mean more when you're brave in the face of known consequences." You hug him as tight as you can both stand, which isn't very. "Thank you, babe. I know I said it before, but. Yeah."
"You and your morphine are very welcome," you say indulgently, and kiss his eyebrow. Your dad's rummaging in the pocket of the suit jacket slung over the back of his chair. "Aha!" he says, and pulls out a little business card, cream paper and rusty red gloss lettering, so it looks like blood on pale skin. You're very amused. He gives the card to Alex, and says to Bel, "Your dad's let me know that you're looking for a crusade to charge off on. When you're better, and if the good Colonel feels like signing off on it, you can call me up and we'll see if the intelligence and defense contracting agency I work for might have some entry-level positions you would be interested in."
"I. Er. Oh, wow, sir, thank you!" It's an effort of will to tamp your enthusiasm down enough to add, "Erskin and I have a trip planned, Alaska and so forth, our schedule's just been delayed. So it would be some months, is that a dealbreaker?" Working with someone like Reginald Aspera would be so amazing you can hardly wrap your head around it, but you're not going to let Erskin down, not even for that.
"Yes, of course, it's not seasonal work," your dad says. "That being said, you might want to wait until spring to decide." "Dad," you say, embarrassed. He grins at you, irrepressible. "Just in case something comes up. In late winter." "DAD."
You look between them suspiciously. "Is this that werewolf thing where everyone wants me to have a lot of babies? I've never even met a female werewolf, let alone one both Erskin and I would like to shack up with, so I think you might be jumping the gun a tiny bit."
"I could have been talking about you finding an alternate source of employment," your dad says, with an air of wounded innocence. "Or finding a hobby."
"Not with the faces you were making, sir," you say placidly. "I may be autistic and somewhat faceblind, but you're a ham." Your dad cracks up again.
"A ham? A ham!?" Your dad leans back in his chair, bottle clutched to his heart, wrist pressed to his forehead in anguish. "Young man, you wound me! You injure me! You deal me a killing blow! I will have you know Lord Reginald Elizabeth Aspera the third is no one's ham! He's a sausage treat."
"Whatever kind of meat product you are, Lord Aspera, it's one with teeth, because you're chewing the scenery." Your dad is in danger of slipping off his chair from too much laughing.
"Well, then—" and your dad changes, leaning forward, and— you didn't know you could do this actually— his eyes are a bright gold and his face has gone long and furred and fangy, the twisted half-monstrous nightmare from a bad movie, "maybe I should move on to the critics!" His voice is an echoing howl. You're very impressed. You clap. He gives you a little bow in his seat, and licks his whiskers.
You gawk. "Can I learn to do that?" Dad, sounding a bit stunned, says, "Do you want to do that?" "Doesn't everyone?"
"Good man," Reggie says approvingly. He settles back in his seat, his face relaxing into an entirely human shape like a balloon deflating, and brushes a few stray red hairs out of his beard. "It's damn tricky, but good for a scare! You know the sort of balance it takes to hold your non-dominant form? You climb on to there very slowly, and from a particular direction. I don't know if you should try while you're in such an advanced state of perforation, though. Give it a few days."
