the gift of fear (tomarry) (harry x death)

who says that i'm not a god? i am god to me

Tom feels the warmth of the hot cocoa's mug against his fingers. He blows on it occasionally and watches the steam rise, but doesn't stop to take a sip.

After all, there are much more important things happening.

Like Harry, leaning against the counter, a mug of his own in his hand. He is slowly sipping on liquor, some expensive fancy liquor. But he doesn't look fancy much not, his tie untucked and hanging loose around his shoulders, his glasses sitting low on his nose.

He looks like a tired father of too many children and Tom gets why so many people can be fooled by the image. Not him, though. Never him. He swears that, too.

Tom swallows. Then he speaks. "Are you going to elaborate?"

Harry swishes the liquid of the cup around idly. "In time," says Harry. "This information is more a privilege than something you are entitled to. "

It doesn't feel like a privilege. It feels like a bribe. "You offered it," chimes Tom. You offered it so abruptly that it feels like you've hit me over the head with it.

"So, so." He takes a sip of liquor and swallows. "He is God," he starts. "I was one of his first -- though unfortunately not the first -- disciples. I was his right hand man."

"That's insane."

"Maybe," agrees Harry. "It is also the truth."

"Wha... Why is he here?" Tom splutters out.

"He needs placement for the time being. I am continuing his activities for him in the meantime."

Part of what you're doing when you're out all day, Tom concludes. But what are his activities? What the Hell does a God do all day? "Why here?"

"I am his lover. Whyever would he go anywhere else?"

A stupid question and a stupid answer. "Do you trust him?"

"I love him," Harry answers. "I trust him with my home, my life, my very being. Of course I trust him." What an oddly sweet sentimental statement from a man who's very idea of sentiment is wrapped in deceit.

But there is too much mystery surrounding God for Tom to trust him, for him to find everything Harry says anything but suspicious.

"Like Cain trusted Abel," says Tom, quietly. He stares at his reflection in his cup.

Harry hums, his interest seemingly peaked. "Do you believe in God, Tom? Or, rather, are you religious?"

"Obviously," drawls Tom. "Just look at yourself." With every power he has been shown, with every event he has gone through, with what he has just now been told -- how could he not be? It is a wonder he's alone in this.

But, then again, Harry has always said he is special.

Harry huffs, the hint of a smile on his lips. "What a complement. Do you find me divine?"

"I find you otherworldly."

"It is my partner who is otherworldly," says Harry, grinning, all teeth. "I am just along for the ride."

"Is it safe--" says Tom. He clears his throat and blunders on: "Is it safe to have such a thing in the house? There's so many children here."

"You talk as if you yourself aren't one," notes Harry. Tom shrugs uncomfortably. "Interesting. But no, he's not dangerous. To any of you, at any rate."

"To any of us?"

"He is violent, at times. But that's something you understand well enough, don't you?"