Fic: Life is Never Easy, But Neither is Death [3/5]

[jade_dragoness]

Title: Life is Never Easy, But Neither is Death [3/5]
Author: J.D. aka jade_dragoness
Rating: R, for the entire fic, NC-17ish in this part!
Pairing: Harry Dresden/John Marcone, (sorta kinda oh you’ll see!)
Spoilers: Post ‘Changes’, with no intentional spoilers for ‘Ghost Story’.
Summary: Harry is dead. He knows he’s dead. So how in the world did he end up here? He’d much rather prefer Hell.
Word Count: 4,273 for this part.
Disclaimer: Never ever will be mine. *sadness*
A/N: Thank you beachkid for the beta! All mistakes are my own and I reserve the right to sneak ninja fix them. Inspired by the cliche_bingo Card slot number 7 - Bodyswap/Bodyshare, but with a twist! Umm, also I’ve been avoiding all ‘Ghost Story’ spoilers so please don’t mention any in the comments. Thank you!
Feedback is hugely welcomed.
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[Part One]// [Part Two]
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Now with awesome podfic! Read by tinypinkmouse!
Go here at dreamwidth.
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Frankie left his apartment after his bombshell, claiming he needed to hit the nearest bodega for more beer.

I was glad to be left alone because my mind kept reeling from what he‘d told me. And I needed that chance to think it through. And walk it out. I paced around Frankie’s small living room echoing the circling thoughts in my head.

Hell, I knew that Marcone was criminal scum but I’d always thought of him of having some set principles. The kind that made him enforce such rules as keeping innocent bystanders safe from gang wars, or children completely out of the danger from anyone who would hurt or exploit them. For crying out loud, he’d even helped me save lives. I never thought of him of the sort of man who would kill an innocent, who would kill a police officer. Officer Franco Moretti wasn’t a dirty cop. I would be able to tell. If he’d been the sort of selfish man who cared only for himself, he would have left me behind to face the saber-toothed tiger. Instead, he’d slowed himself down to grab me and then made certain to take me to a safe place.

Had I misjudged Marcone so badly? I had seen in the soulgaze that Marcone was capable of killing without remorse, but I’d always figured it had been his enemies, other criminals, or those broke his rules. I couldn’t image how Frankie had been any of those. He was a beat cop for crying out loud. And young, so very young, I could see that in the way he talked, and the way he moved. Early twenties, maybe even mid-twenties, though I doubted it. Why would Marcone kill him?

My thoughts were stuck on this question. At least they were, until I got hit by even more questions: What the hell was Frankie doing in Marcone’s mind? He shouldn’t be here. If he was dead like me then he should be in the afterlife. He wasn’t a ghost. He was too solid, too aware of himself to be a ghost. A ghost was an imprint of a person at the moment of their death. They weren’t people. Frankie was as much as a person as I was, of that I was sure. He was made of soul-stuff not ectoplasm. Then why hadn’t I seen him in the soulgaze? Did he get sucked into Marcone‘s mind just like I had? How long has he been here that those ghost-people of Gray Chicago acknowledged him? Why was the saber-toothed tiger robot hunting him? Why hadn’t he found a way to leave Marcone’s mind?

I had to wait until Frankie got back before I could ask any of my questions. So I practically pounced on him when he got back.

“The tiger‘s hunting me because Marcone wants to get rid of me,” Frankie said, as he put away his groceries. He popped out two cans of beer from the six-pack, tossing me one.

I caught it and scowled at it. “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t want any reminder of me,” said Frankie, after he swallowed down an entire can of beer. He grabbed another can and walked to the couch.

I trailed after him, gritting my teeth in frustration. He was ignoring my other questions! “Then why are you staying here? You can leave!”

Frankie slowly shook his head. “No, I can‘t.”

My stomach dropped to around my knees. “Are you saying that there‘s no way to leave?” I don’t want to spend the rest of my afterlife in Marcone’s mind.

“I don‘t know.”

“So you haven’t even tried?” I asked, leaning towards him on the couch.

Frankie just drank his beer and didn’t look at me.

I sighed. “Frankie…”

“I can‘t leave, Harry,” he said. “It may not seem like it but I‘m needed here. I have to walk my beat. I have to protect the city and the people.”

I watched him carefully. His body language was confident, about that at least. He believed that he needed to stay here. “What makes you think you need to stay in Marcone’s mind?”

Frankie shook his head. “Drop it, Harry. Please. I‘ve been here for years. I‘m not going to be leaving any time soon.”

I dropped it, for now. I was going to find out why he was stuck here. I had the feeling that finding out that answer would be pretty important to figuring out how I’d get out of Marcone’s head. I didn’t want to spend years in here. Hell, no.
*-*-*-*

Frankie offered me his bed after I stifled a yawn for the umpteenth time. I’d protested but he’d explained that he never really had to use it. He didn’t sleep. He had a bed more from habit than anything else. He usually spent his time walking the streets of Grey Chicago. Hell, it turned out that Grey Chicago didn’t even have a night. The overcast sky grew darker, as if in twilight but it never turned in true night. The same could be said for the day, the sky never got a clear, sunny and bright day.

Marcone is screwed up, seriously screwed up.

“I won‘t be gone long,” Frankie said. “I need to walk my beat and then I‘ll be back.”

I scowled at him. “If you get yourself eaten…”

He shook his head at me. “You’re aware I‘ve survived just fine on my own before you showed up, right? I‘m still uneaten.”

I opened my mouth to argue but I got interrupted by a wide yawn.

Frankie chuckled, and all but shoved me in the direction of his bedroom. I had to admit, his single bed looked inviting. “Get some rest,” he said. “You wouldn‘t be any help to me even if you came along. Your snoring wouldn‘t away scare the tiger.”

“I don‘t snore,” I protested, but fell face first against the bed. If Frankie made any smartassed remark about my snores - that don’t happen! - I didn’t hear it. I was already asleep

I crashed for a several hours. When I woke up, I was hungry again so I raided Frankie’s kitchen for more food. He’d been thoughtful enough to pick up more sandwich bread from the bodega.

It wasn’t until I had swallowed down the last bite of a sandwich made up of soft grey cheese and leftover bologna that I found myself wondering over exactly what I was eating. This was Marcone’s mind. Everything in it was made up of Marcone’s subconscious, even the bologna meat. And I was eating it.

I was distracted by the nausea inducing thoughts of wondering if I was actually eating bits of Marcone’s soul or something more sinister when Frankie got back from his patrol of the city.

“What‘s wrong? Is the cheese off?” Frankie asked in concern. He walked over to where I was leaning back against the couch and trying not to be sick.

“No, I just found myself wondering about what exactly I was eating,” I said, waving a hand at the leftover food I hadn’t been able to think about finishing. I’d made several of those sandwiches and had eaten all but one.

Frankie leaned closer to me to peer at the plate. “I‘d say it‘s cheese, bread and bologna.”

“No, smartass, I mean in the broader sense. It’s not real cheese. This is Marcone’s mind! What is it really?” I asked, giving the sandwich a disturbed look. Other than still being different shades of grey it remained innocuous.

Frankie laughed and sat next to me on the couch, shifting the plate. I caught it before it could spill. “You could call it headcheese,” he said cheerfully. He sprawled out his arms, resting them on the back. And his fingers ended up tickling the hairs on my head.

“You have a sick sense of humor,” I said, grimacing. My stomach rolled uncomfortably to the left.

“It‘s filled you up, right?” Frankie asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

I nodded.

“Then what’s the problem?” he asked curiously.

I frowned. “It’s not a problem exactly. It’s just… I‘m energized, in a way I haven‘t been since before I got shot and I‘ve been using my magic a lot since. My reserves should be drained nearly to the dredges, but since I ate those sandwiches those reserves have been getting replenished. A lot of magical power comes from living things. Marcone is the only living thing here. He‘s the only fuel for my magic.”

“So what, you think you‘re eating bits of Marcone‘s mind?”

“More like his soul,” I said grimly. The idea was disturbing as hell, and while I knew that taking tiny bites of Marcone’s soul wouldn’t hurt him in the long run since souls can regenerate, I couldn’t help but think about how White Court vampires fed on life force. Or how the Nightmare had taken a big bite out of me and stolen my magic. I was doing something that felt entirely too similar to Marcone. I was using him to power myself.

And it wasn’t like I’d asked for permission, either. The entire thing made me feel sick.

Frankie frowned and I noticed that the shadow that clung to his fade looked it had receded a little. I could see more of his upper face including the tip of his nose.

“Is it going to hurt you?” Frankie asked.

I stared at him in surprise. That wasn’t the question I’d been expecting at all.

“No,” I said slowly as I evaluated myself. “Actually, since I‘m not as drained in power, I think I‘ll be able to pull off more magic without having to worry about using myself up.” I already felt stronger, even more solid. I hadn’t realized how weak I’d been feeling until now that I felt better.

“Then it’s no big deal. Keep eating when you’re hungry,” Frankie said, with a decisive nod. He handed me the plate. “Finish that.”

I sighed, shoved my alarm away for later consideration and grabbed the plate. I couldn’t do anything about it. And Frankie was right, as much as I hated the idea, having my magic back and not having to worry about running out was a benefit I couldn’t afford to turn away. Not now.

“How was your walk?” I asked, around a mouthful of sandwich.

“Fine,” Frankie answered. “Considering how the day started? It was surprisingly calm.”

“No giant robotic saber-toothed tigers roaming the streets?”

He chuckled. “I’m in one piece, aren’t I?” He held out his arms. “See, not even a scratch.”

I nodded. “Are you heading out again?”

“Yeah no rest for the wicked,” he grinned. “I just came back to check on you.”

“Okay,” I said, and got off the couch to put away the dirty plate. “I‘m coming with you this time.”

Frankie frowned after me. “Why? You‘re safer here.”

I snorted at that and said, “Frankie, I need to figure out a way to get the hell out of Marcone‘s head. Staying safe isn‘t exactly the goal here.”

He nodded slowly. “Okay, but if I tell you to run then you better do it.”

“You‘re not the only one that can take care of himself,” I said dryly.

He tilted his head at me. “I‘m not saying you can‘t, but I know Marcone‘s mind a lot better than you. I know where all the dangerous spots are. That tiger may be the most dangerous aspect of Marcone‘s mind but it isn‘t the only one.”

Why was I not surprised? “Okay, okay, you‘re the Marcone expert.”

Frankie smirked at me.

So together we headed out of Frankie’s neighborhood and into downtown Grey Chicago.

As the only cop in Marcone’s mind, Frankie told me that he walked the entire city, though he mostly stuck to the downtown streets. It was impressive considering the size of Grey Chicago. From what I could see this mental city was to scale of the real Chicago. And he was doing it all on foot. Apparently he preferred it that way, using a car would make it too easy for him to miss something.

I was just glad that I’m a walker. Otherwise, I’d have gotten sore feet. Somehow I doubted that not having a body would have saved me from blisters.

“It helps that I don‘t have to go into the buildings,” he explained, as we walked along the Chicago River towards the Michigan Avenue Bridge. I could see the Sun Times building across the grey water. “That makes my beat a little faster. If I had to add a vertical patrol as well as a street one it would take me a week just to cover all of downtown.”

I considered the skyline. Chicago was considered the birthplace of the skyscraper for a reason. It even was home to the tallest building in the US. I didn’t even want to think about how long it would take one man to patrol inside them. “Huh, I can see that. But why not?”

“Most of skyscrapers hold Marcone’s memories,” Frankie explained. “If I go into them too much I draw the attention of the saber-toothed tiger. And then I’d end up being the mouse in a cat-and-mouse game.”

“Sounds like the voice of experience.”

He shrugged. “I still go into them once in a while. The TV doesn‘t always work, and I need to keep up on whatever Marcone is doing. Sometimes, it‘s the only way to know what going on out there.”

“Is that how you knew who I was, from the stored memories?” Was there information about me in one of those skyscrapers? How much research into my life had Marcone conducted? I was torn between wanting to know and existing in happy denial about all Marcone had found out about me.

Frankie shot me a smirk. “No. Whenever you show up in Marcone‘s life, the TV works. You sure get Marcone‘s emotions going.”

I made a disgusted face and Frankie’s grin widened.

“What I’d say about saying things like that,” I grumbled. He just laughed at me. I sighed. I rescue the man from a giant metal prehistoric monster and I get no respect. My afterlife resembled my former life entirely too much.

After a couple of hours of wandering Chicago, I got hit by the idea of visiting my apartment, or at least Marcone’s version of it.

“That’s not a good idea, Harry,” Frankie said, clearly not enthused by the idea

“I‘m going with or without you,” I said, walking in the direction of my apartment.

Frankie growled but jogged after me. “Even I don‘t know what in there!”

“Then don‘t you think it‘s a good time to find out?” I said, tossing him a smirk over my shoulder.

He growled again.
*-*-*-*

Happily, it turned out that the boarding house was first building in the city that wasn’t an exact replica of the real one. If it had been accurate it would have been a burned out shell. Instead, it was whole, grey and an entirely welcome sight.

I had to slow down as I approached, and swallow down hard against the lump that rose in my throat.

“You walk all this way and you‘re not going in?” Frankie asked. He looked at me where I had frozen in place as I stared at the replicated boarding house. I tried to control my expression but something of my anguish must have leaked through because he put his hand on my shoulder. “What‘s wrong?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head. “It‘s just… last time I saw my home, it was burning down.” I’d also been pretty badly hurt. The whole incident had started me on the path that had led to me taking up the mantle of the Winter Knight. It made me think that the hellhounds which had been after me had cause to chase me down whether they wanted to eat me or drag me down to hell. But I wasn’t going to tell Frankie about it because the last thing I wanted was to suck him into my mess. And… I liked the fact that he didn’t know.

“I‘m sorry, I didn‘t know that,” Frankie said gently. He squeezed my shoulder. “You can change your mind, you know. I still say you shouldn‘t go in there. Memories can be dangerous. Sometimes they’re little more than files, but sometimes they‘re more than that. It‘s easy to get lost in them.”

“You don‘t even know if there are memories in there,” I pointed out. The fact that Frankie hadn’t been in the apartment was one of a lot of the reasons why I wanted to go in. I wanted to see what Marcone would keep in the building that held my apartment.

Frankie shrugged. “I‘ve never needed to.”

“I might as well find out what Marcone knows about me,” I said. Even though I was dead and Marcone couldn’t make me any deader, I wanted to find out what he knew about me. It was too good of an opportunity to pass by. And who’s to say I wouldn’t find something that I could later use. Or maybe even a way to get out of Marcone’s head, although I really doubted it would be so easy.

“You know there‘s no guarantee that‘s what you‘ll find, right?” Frankie asked. “Just because the Trump Tower is full of the memory files of Marcone‘s business practice there‘s no reason that your information will be in there.”

“Well, I‘ll never find out if I stay out here,” I said, as I threw back my shoulders and marched down the stairs. “Are you coming?” I called over my shoulder.

“I think I better stay put and keep an eye out for the tiger,” Frankie said. “You just listen for gun shots.”

“I‘ll come running,” I agreed. I cautiously walked down the steps leading to my apartment door. I was lucky the door wasn’t locked; the only difficulty I had was in prying the door open. Marcone had never been to my apartment but he knew how hard it was to open up the steel door I’d installed a few years ago. Okay. There was a creepy feeling going up my spine and I wasn’t even inside yet.

I was careful as I popped by head in, and I half-expected my cat to come running out to barrel into my legs. I had to swallow down my bitter disappointment when I got no sign of Mister. I knew it wasn’t rational, it wasn’t like he‘d be the real Mister, but I’d died not knowing what happened to him.

I shoved those thoughts out of my mind and focused on the inside of my apartment there were candles burning in the living room but that’s were the eerily similarity ended. The couch and carpets weren’t the same. Hell, even the shape of my fireplace was off, though it was in the same place. I sighed in relief. I’d been worried that Marcone knew how the apartment had looked and considering the man had never been inside it that would really have freaked me out.

Another difference was the addition of a coat stand near the door where a version of my duster hung. I grabbed it and put it on. The duster fit me perfectly. It felt and even smelled exactly how the original once had. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation. I had lost the real duster in the fight against the Red Court, it hadn‘t been able to stand up to taking all the damage that had been launched at me though it had protected me valiantly. This facsimile duster was a mental balm in a way I couldn‘t really explain. It meant so much to me to get to wear it again even if it was as real as Grey Chicago.

I opened my eyes again and looked around. Leaning against the wall next to the bedroom door was a staff. I picked it up and examined it. I wasn’t surprised to see that Marcone had memorized the sigils carved into the wood and reproduced them faithfully. He’d even managed to get the feel and weight right, which really made me wonder. Only when I tried to pour some of my will power through it, there was nothing. The staff was just a pretty stick carved with interesting arcane symbols. Not a tool for my magic.

Of course, it wouldn’t be so easy.

I sighed in disappointment and settled the staff back against the wall. That’s when I heard a groan come through the slighted open door of my bedroom.

I walked over, keeping my steps light. Again, a groan sounded: low, deep and almost pained. I pressed my hand against the door and gently pushed it open. What I saw inside my bedroom made me blink and freeze in place.

Sprawled against a bigger bed than I had ever owned was a naked Marcone. He was leaning back against me. Well, a grey ghostly version of me. Marcone was a lot more solid but also the same shade of grey.

Grey-Harry’s hand was wrapped around Marcone’s slick cock, sliding up and down in a tight fist. I could see the muscles in Marcone’s abdomen shift as he lifted his hips and the muscles in his thighs tensed. He groaned a deep sound that made me swallow in sympathy, as Grey-Harry thumbed the leaking head. Grey-Harry was mouthing Marcone’s neck deep kisses and bites. Each bite made Marcone shudder, and his toes curled.

They were so wrapped in each other they hadn’t noticed me open the door. I inhaled shakily, and then I carefully backed away from the door. As soon as I was clear I spun on my heel and I hurried through the living room and out the front door.

“What‘s wrong?” Frankie asked, as he saw me come up the stairs at a dead run.

I didn’t look at him as my cheeks burned. “I found out what Marcone was keeping in there,” I mumbled, slowing down but walking quickly away. Frankie had to stretch his legs to keep up with me.

Frankie caught me by the arm to slow me down. “Harry, what happened? What did you find?”

“Nothing,” I said, and tried to tug free of his grip. Frankie didn’t let go.

“Right,” he said, skeptically. “That‘s why you ran out of there like your tail was set on fire.”

“They weren‘t memories.” Frankie just kept looking at me. Even without able to see his eyes underneath the shadow I could feel the weight of his stare. I rubbed at my red cheeks but it didn‘t help get rid of my blush. I said reluctantly, “I found Marcone‘s fantasies. About me.”

“Really?” Frankie burst out laughing. I glared at him. “That makes sense,” he chuckled. “Where else would he keep them? I told-”

“Yeah, yeah,” I interrupted sourly before I hear the I-told-you-so. Then I rubbed at my eyes. I hadn’t expected such a clearly intimate moment to be in Marcone‘s mind, especially one that had never even happened. And for him to be holding onto it so tight in his mind that it came part of the fabric of his subconscious - of Grey Chicago - it had to mean something to him. Something that I didn’t really want to think about, not that I could avoid it now. The images were practically Sight-level detailed in my mind and as likely for me to forget them.

Frankie stopped laughing and stiffened. He snapped, “Freeze!”

I stilled, as much from surprise as from the authority in his voice. He had his head tilted up and I followed the direction of his gaze.

Standing on the roof of an apartment building that shouldn’t have been able to support all that weight was the huge robotic saber-toothed tiger. Of course, it always got worse.

The metal beast was snuffling at the air, and its ears turned towards where we stood.

“Has it seen us?” I whispered, moving back towards Frankie.

“It knows we‘re here,” Frankie whispered back. “I don‘t think it‘s seen us yet. The alcove here hides us from view.”

The tiger stood up on all fours. In a simultaneous movement Frankie and I pressed closer to the shadow of the building.

“Well, at least we know for sure that you‘re the one that‘s catching the tiger‘s attention,” Frankie said.

“Great,” I whispered. “So, I‘ll die again knowing I was the target all along. I’d hate to have been eaten by accident.”

He ignored my sarcasm. He said quietly, “There‘s no school near this neighborhood. There‘s to many businesses.”

“I know.” Being careful of innocent bystanders had been one of the reasons I’d picked this area to live in the first place and not just because of the low rent. I frowned as I mentally reviewed all the surrounding areas. Then I had to think about Marcone’s personality. It wasn’t just kids that he made a point of protecting. “There‘s a community center only a couple of blocks away. Do you think the tiger will go inside one?”

Frankie’s mouth tightened and he shook his head. “I don‘t know. I‘ve never tried one.”

“What places will it stay away from?” I asked.

“Schools, churches, hospitals and parks with families.”

The last one made me wince. Right. “The community center is closer than any of those.” The tiger roared. The sound was so loud that I could feel it deep in my chest, making my incorporeal heart ache. Everything around us shook. “Run?”

“Run,” Frankie agreed. And we took off.

TBC in [Part 4]

a/n: Run boys!