Chapter Text
Harry thought that the last party he’d attended as Macy’s date would be the last she’d ever invite him to attend. After all, she’d seemed to be so perturbed by how little his presence had helped to make Galvin jealous. Indeed, all he’d managed to do that night—aside from improving the party with some particularly delicious Welsh Rarebit, if he said so himself—was create further awkwardness between Galvin and his new girlfriend.
Honestly, he hadn’t expected Macy to chime in quite so quickly when Summer had commented on how lucky she was to be “with” him. Harry told himself he shouldn’t have been hurt by how loudly or emphatically Macy had exclaimed “We’re just friends!” He shouldn’t have been. But he was. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. And honestly, it seemed unlikely that there would ever be a reason to bring it up again.
Now, however, Harry found himself once again in the position of seat-filler, as it were. Filling in for the Absence of Galvin, with Macy, to another festive holiday event. This time, a New Years Eve party that was being thrown by the wealthy benefactors who were sponsoring one of Macy’s most important research projects. When Maggie—and it was always Maggie, God Help Them—had suggested that Macy bring Harry as her date, Harry and Macy had both looked askance, each hemming and hawing for a likely excuse. Unfortunately, Mel wasn’t having it.
“Oh, cut it out, you two!” she’d ordered. “It’s not like you’re brother and sister. Chill the heck out with your cringeingly heteronormative sensibilities, and go to the damn party as good friends. Which you ARE, by the way, in case you forgot.”
Sheepishly, Harry and Macy had looked at each other, and simultaneously acquiesced. After all, it seemed that Mel was right, and they were making too much of what was ultimately a casual, work-related event. It wasn’t until a few days later, when Macy announced (dejectedly) that the party had been upgraded to black tie, that Harry began to get truly excited. Not because he would be attending such a party with Macy, of course. But because he so rarely had the opportunity to wear the tuxedo he’d had custom made on Savile Row in the 1960s. Or had it been the late 1950s? Regardless, Maggie assured him that vintage was in, and he was well aware that the best bespoke suits were made to last for generations.
After orbing out of his apartment and into the foyer of the Vera-Vaughn home, Harry announced himself with a subtle clearing of his throat. When there was no response, he tried again, a bit more assertively. “Hello, girls? Is everyone decent?” (This was a new habit he’d developed, after recently walking into the kitchen to find Maggie and Parker well on their way to an flagrante delicto situation on the counter.) When there was still no response, Harry sighed, assuming that meant they were all still upstairs getting ready. Macy for her work party, Maggie for her date with Parker, and Mel for her shift at The Haunt. There was nothing to do but wait patiently. He used the opportunity to double-check his appearance in the hallway mirror, straightening his bow tie and flicking a spot of lint off of one satin lapel. The velvety evergreen material of the coat was almost indistinguishable against the black satin lapels when it was dim, but when the light hit it just right, you could see the difference in shades. He wasn’t vain by any means, but Harry was aware that the color really brought out his eyes. He smirked self-deprecatingly at himself in the mirror, trying to remember the last time in his many years he’d felt this self-conscious.
A soft creaking noise came from above, and Harry turned toward the stairs, promptly forgetting everything. Including his memories. Including his calling as a Whitelighter. Including basic human functions, like breathing, and thinking. Like an angel wrapped in silks, Macy descended toward him with effortless grace, her long skirts seeming to float out around her as she walked. Made from the palest pink fabric, her dress had a high neck and fell in sweeping lines that only lightly caressed her figure when she walked. It seemed vaguely balletic, but then, perhaps that was more about the graceful way she moved than the dress itself. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she paused for a moment in the light of the chandelier, and smiled.
“Well, don’t you look dapper.” Her voice was low and soft, cracking slightly at the end. Was she nervous because of how he looked? Or because of how he was looking at her? Harry could only guess. But oh, how badly he wanted it to be the first.
Shaking himself slightly to restore common sense—or, at least, the appearance of it—Harry stepped forward and held out his arm. “Thank you, Macy. And, you look...” He paused for a moment, feeling as if he might suddenly run out of breath. There were no words worthy enough, but this would have to do: “Exquisite.”
Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm, turning toward her sisters, who had probably just come in from the living room or the kitchen. But Harry hadn’t noticed, because he’d clearly been distracted.
“Ohmygod, you guys look SO AMAAAAZING,” Maggie gushed. “I need pics. So many pics!”
As she snapped away with her camera phone, with and without a flash, Harry held his breath and silently prayed for the strength to keep his feelings in check for an entire evening. At Maggie’s insistence, Macy edged closer to him, wrapping her hand around his bicep. He glanced toward her, and felt his heart stop, when he realized that he hadn’t yet seen the back of her dress. Which wasn’t there, technically, because the dress seemed to be delicately held together by a few criss-crossing strips of satin cord. That left Macy all but bare from neck to shoulders, to the smooth curve just above her...Dear Gods. He was going to die. Again.
“Okay, well, it’s time to go. Don’t wanna be late.” Macy let go of his arm and moved toward the hallway closet to retrieve her jacket. Acting on instinct, Harry reached out to take it from her and help her put it on. This time, he was careful to avert his eyes and keep his hands from accidentally touching her more than he absolutely had to for the sake of chivalry. And his sanity.
When Macy declared herself ready, she stepped forward, well into his personal space. For a few seconds, he simply stood there, paralized by her closeness. Then he realized, she was waiting for him to put his arms around her, so they could orb to the party, together. For the Gods’ sake, Harry. Pull yourself together.
“Shall we be off, then?” He attempted lamely, hoping to defuse the tension.
She nodded. “Let’s do this.”
Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming, Harry wrapped his arms around Macy and pulled her with him through time and space.