Three things that might have happened at McAnnally's (but probably didn't)
Author: KC
Fandom: The Dresden Files
Pairing: Harry/assorted (het, pre-slash)
Rating: *Light* R (Sorry! I tried for smut but it morphed somewhere between my fingers and my brain, I swear.)
Warnings: Includes foreplay. Gen, het and pre-slash.
Summary: McAnally's is just chock full of character, isn't it? Or maybe that's characters.
Notes: I hope any Dresden fans enjoy reading this. Or at least don't hate it. I haven't been able to find any Dresden fic anywhere, so I'm not sure what the fandom looks like, but I've been tossing this idea around for a while. It was originally supposed to be a more conventional "Five Things" fic, but then I read Blood Rites, which booted the forth section right off the fic, and the fifth one I was never really satisfied with. So...yes. Written in three sections and there's pre-slash in the last one. Mediocre writing is pretty much always a warning. If you don't like it, write it better! The Dresden Files DESERVES good fanfic!
It was a hard case. Three girls were dead, all of them in a room locked from the inside and all of them missing their lungs, though no one could figure out how they'd been removed because the rib cages were still intact. Tension was high and the SI was being pressed by higher ups for results, or they'd lose the case and what credibility they'd maintained through the years.
Harry had invited several of the more tolerant members out for lunch - and invite, in this sense, meant that he'd told them he'd be around if they wanted to share good food, but still pay their own way - and even he was a little surprised how many had showed. Granted, he hadn't expected "fuck off and die" but...well, he *was* one of the main reasons the SI had such low credibility. Nothing like a Professional Wizard on the list of consultants to make heads roll, especially at his rates.
So where should he take several some-odd police officers - with their girlfriends - while on one of the toughest cases he'd worked in while, the crime of which could have been committed with magic? Probably anywhere else, but hell, MacAnnally's had damn good steak and he had the money. If anyone protested, he'd point out the magical Switzerland part, and hopefully be able to pull something technical sounding out of his ass.
Mac probably wouldn't let him back in the bar, but hell, if this case turned sour, he'd likely lose his main source of revenue, not, coincidently, his means of paying for food, so he figured it was a gamble: Mac's good graces could fall onto the side of more paying customers, or he could kick Harry's ass for bringing this many police officers into his place and scaring off the regulars. Harry was hoping for the former. Mac really was a decent cook.
After two hours and a round of drinks (with protests from the designated drivers until they'd actually tasted the european beer) it was looking like Harry had his answer: a resounding "hn". He shook his head. Mac embodied taciturn on his best days, so Harry figured the fact that he hadn't been thrown out on his rear spoke for itself. Of course, now that he'd been a good host - well, now that he'd pointed out the best choices for lunch, anyway, and most of the officers had cleared out - or in one case, found himself in a conversation with a Moroccan witch that had immigrated to Chicago about twelve years ago - Harry found himself with Murphy in an island of empty tables at four in the afternoon.
Prime time for griping. "If I hear one more 'abracadabra' from that little rat - "
Murphy grinned. Good food off hours does wonders, Harry thought. On the job Karen Murphy didn't smile, she *smirked*. And, well, that was usually the best - only - response when dealing with Harry on friendly terms.
Murphy shook her head, grin softening into a smile. "They're tense and you're easy insults."
"If they aren't careful, they'll be past-tense."
Murphy snorted. "You don't mean that."
Harry made a face. "Well...no. But damn it, I'm tense too! Why don't I get any slack, huh?"
She smirked. "Aw, poor baby. Drink your beer."
"Happy to follow any order of the nature."
Murphy snorted. "How you can drink that stuff is beyond me."
"Sad, really. No taste for beer. Must be American."
She arched an eyebrow. "Weren't you raised in Tennessee?"
"...something like that," Harry mumbled.
"Doesn't that make you even *more* American than me?"
"...no. And I'll thank you to not interrupt my drinking pleasure." He lifted his chin and glared. It had the same effect it always did: none. It just didn't work without being able to make eye-contact.
Murphy just tilted her head and smiled a little, sipping on her water and looking around. "Some place you found, Dresden."
"It suits my purposes," he said, glancing over the patrons. Namely, those involving food of the edible sort. Sometimes he'd needed to use the bar as an accorded neutral ground, but...mostly he just liked the food.
"It certainly has...character."
Harry snorted. "You must've really liked the food if that's all you're saying."
Murphy laughed a little. "Don't want to burn all my bridges, Dresden."
Her voice wasn't as light as it should have been. Harry frowned. "Murph?"
She sighed. "Just...politics." She waved her hand. "It's stupid."
"Hm."
"Really," she said, glaring when Harry just nodded and looked down at his empty plate. "Damn it, Dresden, there isn't anything you can do, alright? Rudolph's been telling stories. The higher ups are willing to listen. There's nothing -" she sighed and her voice went from tight and a little loud to tired. "Honestly, there's nothing you can do."
Harry frowned, connecting the dots. "This - this case is a test, isn't it?" Murphy looked at her drink and didn't say anything. "Shit, Murph," he said. A test - and then what? If they didn't solve the case quickly, what? "The SI is going to be their scape goat if this case isn't solved."
"...yeah."
"Even if they take over?" She glared. "Right, stupid question." He swallowed a mouthful of beer while he thought. "Time frame?"
"We've got maybe - maybe, mind you - a week. If there are no new murders."
Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Tomorrow I'll be getting some results back from a source. Er - one who wishes to remain anonymous." He winced. Bob was going to hold this over his head so much. "It'll tell us what we're...what I'm missing." He was beginning to see the girls when he dreamed, just watching him at the foot of his bed, their chests still held open with the clamps like they'd been found. It was a little disconcerting, even for him. And, he was pretty sure, completely *not* a nightmare. It had given him the edges of an idea. Time to set it into action. Tonight. With luck, the majority of the SI would come back from their day off to some good news. For a change.
An unrelated, but pertinent thought occured to him. "Murph...that doesn't seem like enough time to even pretend they're giving the SI a chance."
"What do you expect?" she growled. "Bunch of brown-nosing, politicking bastards who don't *care* that people will still be dying..."
"This is because you guys pulled me in again, isn't it?"
Murphy frowned. "Christ, Dresden, you think the world revolves around you, too?" She rolled her eyes and got up to get the water pitcher refilled. When she came back, Harry had translated her words to what they really meant. "So the answer is, 'yes but not really' right? I'm the excuse, but they would've pulled this anyway." She stared at him and he smirked a little. "Smarter than the average bear."
Murphy plopped down, snorting. "It says 'investigator' on your card and everything," she agreed. "And with the rates we're paying - "
"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered, finishing off his beer. "Love you too, Murph."
~~~
Her skin was smooth under his palms. The dress she'd chosen was perfect - thin straps and floor length, with a slit up to her thigh on the left, and she looked... "Susan," he murmured, reeling her in and gently kissing her.
She chuckled softly against his mouth. "I take it you approve."
He pulled back a little. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"
She smiled. "Aren't you going to ask why I'm not at the benefit?"
"Never look a gift-horse in the incredibly attractive mouth, that's what I always say." He swept his hands over her back and lower, then back up and settled on the small of her back.
"Hm..." Her eyes narrow thoughtfully. Appreciatively. "Well, as it so happens, the hosts happened to eat out last night at Fantaz' Boudour..."
Harry frowned. "The one with the bad fish?" He started rubbing small circles onto her bared skin and made a mental note to tell her how much he liked this dress later. Preferably with it on the floor.
Susan laughed a little. "Actually, their salmon is good. It's their caviar that sucks, apparently."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "So...this means no benefit?"
"Well, it's being postponed, of course - " she laughed again as Harry pulled her against him and kissed her soundly, cutting her off. Before he could do more than squeeze her tightly, though, she pushed him back gently. "Slow down, country-boy. We may be engaged, but I still expect dinner." She glanced down at her slightly rumpled dress. "I'm dressed for anything."
Harry stared at her, memorizing the way the light hit her eyes and how the tilt of her head turned a normal reflection of light into a wicked gleam, and the way her mouth curved like it was stuck between smirk and smile. "I'll get my coat." He wondered, not for the first time, what he'd done to deserve her.
Her hand caught on his shirt and reeled him back. "And you call yourself an investigator..." She cocked her head. "I never said I expect dinner *tonight*..." She smiled and brushed against him on her way to his room. Harry takes a moment to appreciate it all. Susan excepted his proposal; he only had more of this - years of the affection and the slow burn of passion - to look forward to.
She was naked on his bed when he walked into his room, and the dress was nowhere he could see. But he wasn't really looking, either. His eyes were firmly fixed on her, instead, memorizing every moment, every arch of her skin, the curve of her grin as she pulled him down onto her. Her smile was wide, and she nipped his lower lip before she rolled him onto his back and seriously kissed him. He stroked her hips while he did his best to keep up with her truly inspiring technique, and she was still smiling when she pulled away. Her cheeks were flushed and she was beautiful enough to burn him. Harry had always thought she was too much for him, but she was here. She wanted to be here. Harry was actually kind of getting accustomed to prolonged happiness. Life was good.
No, wait. Rewind. Check for inconsistencies. This is how it really went: It's been a month and a half since Susan left. Forty-two weeks. A little over a hundred and sixty-eight days. Numbering the hours, now, that'd be pathetic.
Over a thousand, he knows. And Harry doesn't care about seeming pathetic, because it isn't really seeming-anything, and when you're really pathetic, you honestly *don't* care. And he knows he shouldn't be here, McAnally's being the watering-hole for the magical community of Chicago - ha, what a joke - and word traveling as it tends to do, but he doesn't care much. About anything, really.
Maybe the cat. Mister liked Susan. Harry wonders if he'd still like her, now that she's...once she was. Now that she's a was. Half a was? Half-vampire...an almost-was?
He knows he's had too much to drink when he isn't even making sense with himself. That doesn't stop him from downing another mug.
Mugs. Sometimes, he wonders if Mac knows how pretentious this place seems from an outsiders perspective. Really, it was pretty funny now that he thought about it. And downright *odd* - had Mac just woken up one morning and thought, "hey, there needs to be a bar that caters to the freaks of the world! In *Chicago*"? And sometimes he just has to laugh.
He manages to stop before more than a few people give him wary looks. Mac hasn't looked up from drying some mugs, and Harry can only be grateful he hasn't been tossed out on his ear, yet. He's good for the tab - tonight. But he doesn't *look* like...well, someone you'd expect to find in an establishment without cheap, flickering neon in the front and a more...anonymous door on every other side.
He figures he can come back at least two more times before Mac gets impatient with him, but he can only barely afford tonight, and if he doesn't get a job soon...well, he's *already* living off Ramen Noodles. There's nothing more depressing than having to decide on "chicken" or "beef" for the fourth week in a row. Man cannot live on cheap noodles alone.
He's just doing a really good impression of it. And he hasn't felt up to anything, and honestly, if a potential customer saw him, they'd run away screaming right now, but he doesn't actually care. And since he doesn't care, it just continues. Downward spiral and all that. Vicious cycle.
He takes another drink.
The good news is he's gotten over his phobia. He can say "I love you" anytime, if he feels like it.
*The tense changes back to past-tense and stays that way, now. Sorry about any confusion, I just liked the way this bit sounded in present.
~~~
Harry was enjoying the first decent meal, not to mention the first decent *beer* he'd had in *weeks*, thinking things were as close to perfect as they could get without breaking any laws when he heard the cloud for the silver lining clear it's throat. "What a charming place you habit, Mr. Dresden."
Harry blinked. "...Marcone." In McAnally's? No. This was a nightmare. No other explanation.
"Eloquent as ever," Marcone murmured, sitting down. Harry's mouth twisted but he bit down the retort in favor of finishing his beer in one long pull. He was *not* going to instigate this conversation in any way. Marcone could sit and stare till he was blue in the face if he was going to wait for Harry to - well, actually, the likelihood of that happening was almost as high as the creepiness. And the window for reply was closing, so - "I have a way with words."
"Mangled is a way."
Harry smirked and lifted his glass, empty as it was, in a mocking toast. "So..." he looked at Marcone thoughtfully. "Let me see; I bet I can say how this goes: required insult out of the way, you'll hint around about what you want, I'll turn you down, you'll make a few veiled - and some not so veiled - threats, I'll return with one of my own, still say no, and you leave." Marcone's eyebrow rose slightly at the last prediction and Harry sighed, slumping forward slightly. "OK, I admit the last part was mostly hope."
"Hm." Marcone stared at him for a minute, then looked around. Harry wondered who the show was for, since he *knew* Marcone must know any place he went in without bodyguards inside out and sideways, and Marcone knew he knew...he knew...
Geez, no wonder he got a headache whenever he was around Marcone. "What do you want, John?" he asked, hopefully pissing Marcone off enough that he left, because Harry really didn't want to spend more time than necessary with Gentleman Johnny. He may not hate the guy anymore, but...well, it was the principle of the thing. Harry didn't make a habit of consorting with people who insulted him as much as Marcone did.
Well, the ones that got away with it. Which happened to list...Marcone.
He'd never claimed maturity.
"I have a job for you." Marcone said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. Harry blinked. "You..." What? "I'm kind of disappointed, I think."
Marcone frowned. "Why?"
Harry signaled for the check and leaned back. "Well, the last time you tried to hire me, you kidnapped me. In a limo and everything. Now I rate gate-crashing my lunch?" Harry sighed. "Where has the romance gone?"
Marcone's mouth tightened slightly. "I thought you might be able to speak about this like an adult -"
"Well, there was your first mistake." Harry pulled back when he saw the tightness around Marcone's eyes, the tension in his arms - which had been there the whole time and how was he only just noticing? - become too much for him to control for a moment. He frowned slightly and sat forward, taking a deep breath. "Right. I...appologize."
That was enough to shake Marcone out of the anger-induced loss of control. "...what?"
Harry waved his hand uncomfortably. "I apologize? No matter what my personal politics are, I *am* professional enough to hear you out." He noticed Mac wave a piece of paper and set it on the counter and stood. "Come on, we'll take this to my office. You can tell me what the problem is on the way."
Marcone stood as well, but waited at the table while Harry paid for the meal and the beer. "I would prefer not going to your office," he said when they were walking toward the door. "The matter in question is...sensitive. I approached you here because it is...difficult for prying ears to find ways into. More so than your office, at any rate."
Harry coughed. "Uh...you do remember that technology tends to go 'pfft' around me, right?" Which, last he checked, would make bugging his office pretty difficult.
Marcone stared at him. "No, actually I'd *forgotten*." Harry started frowning. "You mean..." Marcone nodded. Harry narrowed his eyes. "You know this how...?" Marcone met his eyes with a bland smile and Harry sighed. "Right." Even the *implication* that someone could magically bug his office without him knowing, with all the wards he had up is worrying. Not only that, it was *insulting*.
They walked outside and - yeah, suspicious. He looked around the parking lot again but didn't see anything he could imagine Marcone driving. He gestured, arching his eyebrow. Marcone shook his head. Wonderful...what else could happen to make this day worse?
At least he'd finished his lunch.
Twenty minutes later, Harry wanted to shoot himself. What else could happen...? Way to tempt fate, Dresden. "So let me get this straight - the woman - Gard - works as freelance magic-for-hire, and you negotiated for a temporary contract. Now the contract is just about up, and you're suspicious that something's shady with the deal."
"To simplify it, yes."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "I like things simple. Less room for 'subjective interpretation' that way."
"Yes, in your line of work, I can see where you might appreciate that." Marcone paused. "Oh, wait...hm."
Harry frowned. "What?"
"I've read up on your...beginnings. And some of your recent exploits - those that could be found, at any rate - and I have found you to be rather...slippery, even with the most straightforward of bargains."
Harry pulled back slightly - he's researched me? - and glared. "You of all people should know - "
Marcone smiled, waved his hand dismissively. "And I do. That is why I am here."
"Which tells me nothing. What do you want me to do, John? Investigate Gard, find out whether she's playing both teams?" Marcone looked doubtful and Harry smirked. "It says investigator on my card and everything."
Marcone shook his head, face smoothing back to unreadable. "Unnecessary. I have...others already on the job." He smiled faintly, looking to the side. "No, Mr. Dresden, I need your...professional protection for a matter of gravest importance. One that, for reasons even you understand, has been...*veiled* in secrecy."
Harry stared in shock. "What - her? She's - "
"Showing...improvement. Restlessness." His mouth tightened. "I will allow no interruptions to her recovery. Do you understand?"
Harry shifted, folding his hands in his lap. "Hm." His eyes were distant. "I might be willing to take the job - " he held up his hand to stop Marcone from saying anything. "You have to be aware of a few things, first. I'm *always* on call for the Chicago PD. If they need me for a case, I *have* to leave. I know ways to seal a building against any intrusion, but it could be risky. If something were to happen to me, there's no way of knowing how the wards would react."
Marcone's mouth tightened. "It is partially your fault the issue is in question at all."
"Um - what?" Harry gaped.
"If I hadn't had to worry about you...investigating...my estate for the veil, I would never have hired Gard."
"That's some pretty skewed logic, Marcone." The man stared. Harry couldn't deny that he might feel partially responsible - but he didn't have to admit it, either. "I can put myself on emergency-status only, but they may call if there are murders."
"I only need you for two days. You stay the full time and I'll double your pay - " Harry opened his mouth to say that *that* wasn't the problem, but Marcone steamrolled him. " - and see that the Chicago Police Department receives a...generous donation for their own Special Investigations Unit's tireless efforts to protect the city from the more...eccletic crimes."
Harry frowned. "I don't take bribes." He paused and thought about it. Considered how badly Murphy would kick his ass if he accepted. "Usually." Hell, he was taking the job anyway, right? And it was for a good cause.
Marcone arched an eyebrow. "That's a yes."
"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Would've taken it before." He frowned. "But only at my usual rates." Marcone looked at him quizzically and Harry shrugged. "Karma's a bitch."
*
Three days later, as he thought back to the beginning of the most stressful nonlethal time of his adult life from the same table at McAnally's, Harry could only agree with himself yet again, and wonder if he was catching trouble for something he hadn't done yet, because what could he have done to *deserve* -
He thought about it and ordered another mug. He'd have to walk home tonight (unlikely) or cheat, but it'd be worth it.
"You never stopped by to pick up your payment," Marcone said, sitting down.
"Damn it!" Harry jerked and ended up with a sodding napkin from an earlier casualty of bar-traffic in his lap. His face twisted in disgust and he flicked the disintegrating mess back onto the table. "The reason I didn't show up is that I never want to see you again," he said, glaring. "If that was subtle, let's try this: I hate you. Go away." He grabbed a dry napkin and began patting down his thigh.
"May I inquire to what I owe this sudden hostility? It was reported the job went well."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the darkened part of his jeans. "Wasn't the job, that was pretty easy. There was one rough spot, but it was...taken cared of. Defused." He shook his head. "She's waking up, by the way. I'd give it a month, by her dreams."
"The Doctor's best estimate was six months, possibly." Marcone's mouth tightened. "...thank you."
Harry couldn't help laughing a little. He finally looked up. "You feel it a little, too, huh?"
"Feel what?"
"Even though you think I'm unprofessional and sloppy and a lot of other things you're public persona is too polite to say, you...respect me. Despite yourself."
Marcone watched Harry thoughtfully. "You're an effective practitioner of your art."
"And I rub you raw," Harry added.
"...often, that is the case."
"Yeah."
"The feeling is mutual, I know."
"If that helps you sleep." Harry kept his voice light. It was a joke, right? But he knew, and it wasn't a joke, really. Or it wasn't very funny. He could have been Marcone. He'd always known in that easily-ignorable part of his mind. It was a knowledge he couldn't afford to think about, except he did anyway. If Elaine had gotten out of the fire...*without* forcing Harry to think she was dead...if she'd fallen into a coma... Harry doesn't know what he would have done, how far he would have gone. He'd admit it.
Just not to Marcone.
What he would do is pour a drink and pass it to Marcone and do his best to ignore the speculative eyes on him the rest of the night. A guy can only be so hospitable, he reasoned. Even one with a cosmic debt as large as his.
When he gets up to pay the tab, Marcone waves him off and Harry shrugs and heads out to the parking lot. The Beetle is...obvious. He smiles a little. Sudden warmth at his back is startling, but he recognizes the bland-yet-still-distasteful cologne and starts to move away. Hands grip his arms securely, not painful yet, but...yet. "Is this the part where you double-cross me?"
Marcone's voice is just-barely-warm breath on the back of his neck. "Such a lack of trust in one so young...Harry." He actually managed to sound disappointed, and Harry was about three seconds away from calling up a repelling ward strong enough to knock Marcone out against a wall twenty feet away when his arms were released. He jerked away and spun, holding the repelling charm ready. "What. the. hell."
Marcone...smiled. The one that put Harry in mind of several words that were all about hunger tolerance. The cat that had the mouse firmly cornered and was content to watch it scrabble for escape. "Just...confirming a theory," he says. His voice was smooth and the smile fell away before he'd finished the sentence, leaving the too-familiar blank behind. "I apologize for any discomfort - "
Harry wasn't sure he *shouldn't* just let this go, considering the week he'd had, but he doesn't want to back down. "No way, Marcone. You just - what the *hell*?"
"Hell, indeed." Marcone's eyes narrowed. "Temptation is an...interesting device," he said thoughtfully.
Harry stared at him and wondered if he should start checking for pods.
Marcone smiled again, but this one was the mask, the Company smile. "Goodnight, Harry."
Harry watched him walk away and had the feeling he'd missed something important.
~~~
...right.
Fandom: The Dresden Files
Pairing: Harry/assorted (het, pre-slash)
Rating: *Light* R (Sorry! I tried for smut but it morphed somewhere between my fingers and my brain, I swear.)
Warnings: Includes foreplay. Gen, het and pre-slash.
Summary: McAnally's is just chock full of character, isn't it? Or maybe that's characters.
Notes: I hope any Dresden fans enjoy reading this. Or at least don't hate it. I haven't been able to find any Dresden fic anywhere, so I'm not sure what the fandom looks like, but I've been tossing this idea around for a while. It was originally supposed to be a more conventional "Five Things" fic, but then I read Blood Rites, which booted the forth section right off the fic, and the fifth one I was never really satisfied with. So...yes. Written in three sections and there's pre-slash in the last one. Mediocre writing is pretty much always a warning. If you don't like it, write it better! The Dresden Files DESERVES good fanfic!
It was a hard case. Three girls were dead, all of them in a room locked from the inside and all of them missing their lungs, though no one could figure out how they'd been removed because the rib cages were still intact. Tension was high and the SI was being pressed by higher ups for results, or they'd lose the case and what credibility they'd maintained through the years.
Harry had invited several of the more tolerant members out for lunch - and invite, in this sense, meant that he'd told them he'd be around if they wanted to share good food, but still pay their own way - and even he was a little surprised how many had showed. Granted, he hadn't expected "fuck off and die" but...well, he *was* one of the main reasons the SI had such low credibility. Nothing like a Professional Wizard on the list of consultants to make heads roll, especially at his rates.
So where should he take several some-odd police officers - with their girlfriends - while on one of the toughest cases he'd worked in while, the crime of which could have been committed with magic? Probably anywhere else, but hell, MacAnnally's had damn good steak and he had the money. If anyone protested, he'd point out the magical Switzerland part, and hopefully be able to pull something technical sounding out of his ass.
Mac probably wouldn't let him back in the bar, but hell, if this case turned sour, he'd likely lose his main source of revenue, not, coincidently, his means of paying for food, so he figured it was a gamble: Mac's good graces could fall onto the side of more paying customers, or he could kick Harry's ass for bringing this many police officers into his place and scaring off the regulars. Harry was hoping for the former. Mac really was a decent cook.
After two hours and a round of drinks (with protests from the designated drivers until they'd actually tasted the european beer) it was looking like Harry had his answer: a resounding "hn". He shook his head. Mac embodied taciturn on his best days, so Harry figured the fact that he hadn't been thrown out on his rear spoke for itself. Of course, now that he'd been a good host - well, now that he'd pointed out the best choices for lunch, anyway, and most of the officers had cleared out - or in one case, found himself in a conversation with a Moroccan witch that had immigrated to Chicago about twelve years ago - Harry found himself with Murphy in an island of empty tables at four in the afternoon.
Prime time for griping. "If I hear one more 'abracadabra' from that little rat - "
Murphy grinned. Good food off hours does wonders, Harry thought. On the job Karen Murphy didn't smile, she *smirked*. And, well, that was usually the best - only - response when dealing with Harry on friendly terms.
Murphy shook her head, grin softening into a smile. "They're tense and you're easy insults."
"If they aren't careful, they'll be past-tense."
Murphy snorted. "You don't mean that."
Harry made a face. "Well...no. But damn it, I'm tense too! Why don't I get any slack, huh?"
She smirked. "Aw, poor baby. Drink your beer."
"Happy to follow any order of the nature."
Murphy snorted. "How you can drink that stuff is beyond me."
"Sad, really. No taste for beer. Must be American."
She arched an eyebrow. "Weren't you raised in Tennessee?"
"...something like that," Harry mumbled.
"Doesn't that make you even *more* American than me?"
"...no. And I'll thank you to not interrupt my drinking pleasure." He lifted his chin and glared. It had the same effect it always did: none. It just didn't work without being able to make eye-contact.
Murphy just tilted her head and smiled a little, sipping on her water and looking around. "Some place you found, Dresden."
"It suits my purposes," he said, glancing over the patrons. Namely, those involving food of the edible sort. Sometimes he'd needed to use the bar as an accorded neutral ground, but...mostly he just liked the food.
"It certainly has...character."
Harry snorted. "You must've really liked the food if that's all you're saying."
Murphy laughed a little. "Don't want to burn all my bridges, Dresden."
Her voice wasn't as light as it should have been. Harry frowned. "Murph?"
She sighed. "Just...politics." She waved her hand. "It's stupid."
"Hm."
"Really," she said, glaring when Harry just nodded and looked down at his empty plate. "Damn it, Dresden, there isn't anything you can do, alright? Rudolph's been telling stories. The higher ups are willing to listen. There's nothing -" she sighed and her voice went from tight and a little loud to tired. "Honestly, there's nothing you can do."
Harry frowned, connecting the dots. "This - this case is a test, isn't it?" Murphy looked at her drink and didn't say anything. "Shit, Murph," he said. A test - and then what? If they didn't solve the case quickly, what? "The SI is going to be their scape goat if this case isn't solved."
"...yeah."
"Even if they take over?" She glared. "Right, stupid question." He swallowed a mouthful of beer while he thought. "Time frame?"
"We've got maybe - maybe, mind you - a week. If there are no new murders."
Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Tomorrow I'll be getting some results back from a source. Er - one who wishes to remain anonymous." He winced. Bob was going to hold this over his head so much. "It'll tell us what we're...what I'm missing." He was beginning to see the girls when he dreamed, just watching him at the foot of his bed, their chests still held open with the clamps like they'd been found. It was a little disconcerting, even for him. And, he was pretty sure, completely *not* a nightmare. It had given him the edges of an idea. Time to set it into action. Tonight. With luck, the majority of the SI would come back from their day off to some good news. For a change.
An unrelated, but pertinent thought occured to him. "Murph...that doesn't seem like enough time to even pretend they're giving the SI a chance."
"What do you expect?" she growled. "Bunch of brown-nosing, politicking bastards who don't *care* that people will still be dying..."
"This is because you guys pulled me in again, isn't it?"
Murphy frowned. "Christ, Dresden, you think the world revolves around you, too?" She rolled her eyes and got up to get the water pitcher refilled. When she came back, Harry had translated her words to what they really meant. "So the answer is, 'yes but not really' right? I'm the excuse, but they would've pulled this anyway." She stared at him and he smirked a little. "Smarter than the average bear."
Murphy plopped down, snorting. "It says 'investigator' on your card and everything," she agreed. "And with the rates we're paying - "
"Yeah, yeah," Harry muttered, finishing off his beer. "Love you too, Murph."
~~~
Her skin was smooth under his palms. The dress she'd chosen was perfect - thin straps and floor length, with a slit up to her thigh on the left, and she looked... "Susan," he murmured, reeling her in and gently kissing her.
She chuckled softly against his mouth. "I take it you approve."
He pulled back a little. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"
She smiled. "Aren't you going to ask why I'm not at the benefit?"
"Never look a gift-horse in the incredibly attractive mouth, that's what I always say." He swept his hands over her back and lower, then back up and settled on the small of her back.
"Hm..." Her eyes narrow thoughtfully. Appreciatively. "Well, as it so happens, the hosts happened to eat out last night at Fantaz' Boudour..."
Harry frowned. "The one with the bad fish?" He started rubbing small circles onto her bared skin and made a mental note to tell her how much he liked this dress later. Preferably with it on the floor.
Susan laughed a little. "Actually, their salmon is good. It's their caviar that sucks, apparently."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "So...this means no benefit?"
"Well, it's being postponed, of course - " she laughed again as Harry pulled her against him and kissed her soundly, cutting her off. Before he could do more than squeeze her tightly, though, she pushed him back gently. "Slow down, country-boy. We may be engaged, but I still expect dinner." She glanced down at her slightly rumpled dress. "I'm dressed for anything."
Harry stared at her, memorizing the way the light hit her eyes and how the tilt of her head turned a normal reflection of light into a wicked gleam, and the way her mouth curved like it was stuck between smirk and smile. "I'll get my coat." He wondered, not for the first time, what he'd done to deserve her.
Her hand caught on his shirt and reeled him back. "And you call yourself an investigator..." She cocked her head. "I never said I expect dinner *tonight*..." She smiled and brushed against him on her way to his room. Harry takes a moment to appreciate it all. Susan excepted his proposal; he only had more of this - years of the affection and the slow burn of passion - to look forward to.
She was naked on his bed when he walked into his room, and the dress was nowhere he could see. But he wasn't really looking, either. His eyes were firmly fixed on her, instead, memorizing every moment, every arch of her skin, the curve of her grin as she pulled him down onto her. Her smile was wide, and she nipped his lower lip before she rolled him onto his back and seriously kissed him. He stroked her hips while he did his best to keep up with her truly inspiring technique, and she was still smiling when she pulled away. Her cheeks were flushed and she was beautiful enough to burn him. Harry had always thought she was too much for him, but she was here. She wanted to be here. Harry was actually kind of getting accustomed to prolonged happiness. Life was good.
No, wait. Rewind. Check for inconsistencies. This is how it really went: It's been a month and a half since Susan left. Forty-two weeks. A little over a hundred and sixty-eight days. Numbering the hours, now, that'd be pathetic.
Over a thousand, he knows. And Harry doesn't care about seeming pathetic, because it isn't really seeming-anything, and when you're really pathetic, you honestly *don't* care. And he knows he shouldn't be here, McAnally's being the watering-hole for the magical community of Chicago - ha, what a joke - and word traveling as it tends to do, but he doesn't care much. About anything, really.
Maybe the cat. Mister liked Susan. Harry wonders if he'd still like her, now that she's...once she was. Now that she's a was. Half a was? Half-vampire...an almost-was?
He knows he's had too much to drink when he isn't even making sense with himself. That doesn't stop him from downing another mug.
Mugs. Sometimes, he wonders if Mac knows how pretentious this place seems from an outsiders perspective. Really, it was pretty funny now that he thought about it. And downright *odd* - had Mac just woken up one morning and thought, "hey, there needs to be a bar that caters to the freaks of the world! In *Chicago*"? And sometimes he just has to laugh.
He manages to stop before more than a few people give him wary looks. Mac hasn't looked up from drying some mugs, and Harry can only be grateful he hasn't been tossed out on his ear, yet. He's good for the tab - tonight. But he doesn't *look* like...well, someone you'd expect to find in an establishment without cheap, flickering neon in the front and a more...anonymous door on every other side.
He figures he can come back at least two more times before Mac gets impatient with him, but he can only barely afford tonight, and if he doesn't get a job soon...well, he's *already* living off Ramen Noodles. There's nothing more depressing than having to decide on "chicken" or "beef" for the fourth week in a row. Man cannot live on cheap noodles alone.
He's just doing a really good impression of it. And he hasn't felt up to anything, and honestly, if a potential customer saw him, they'd run away screaming right now, but he doesn't actually care. And since he doesn't care, it just continues. Downward spiral and all that. Vicious cycle.
He takes another drink.
The good news is he's gotten over his phobia. He can say "I love you" anytime, if he feels like it.
*The tense changes back to past-tense and stays that way, now. Sorry about any confusion, I just liked the way this bit sounded in present.
~~~
Harry was enjoying the first decent meal, not to mention the first decent *beer* he'd had in *weeks*, thinking things were as close to perfect as they could get without breaking any laws when he heard the cloud for the silver lining clear it's throat. "What a charming place you habit, Mr. Dresden."
Harry blinked. "...Marcone." In McAnally's? No. This was a nightmare. No other explanation.
"Eloquent as ever," Marcone murmured, sitting down. Harry's mouth twisted but he bit down the retort in favor of finishing his beer in one long pull. He was *not* going to instigate this conversation in any way. Marcone could sit and stare till he was blue in the face if he was going to wait for Harry to - well, actually, the likelihood of that happening was almost as high as the creepiness. And the window for reply was closing, so - "I have a way with words."
"Mangled is a way."
Harry smirked and lifted his glass, empty as it was, in a mocking toast. "So..." he looked at Marcone thoughtfully. "Let me see; I bet I can say how this goes: required insult out of the way, you'll hint around about what you want, I'll turn you down, you'll make a few veiled - and some not so veiled - threats, I'll return with one of my own, still say no, and you leave." Marcone's eyebrow rose slightly at the last prediction and Harry sighed, slumping forward slightly. "OK, I admit the last part was mostly hope."
"Hm." Marcone stared at him for a minute, then looked around. Harry wondered who the show was for, since he *knew* Marcone must know any place he went in without bodyguards inside out and sideways, and Marcone knew he knew...he knew...
Geez, no wonder he got a headache whenever he was around Marcone. "What do you want, John?" he asked, hopefully pissing Marcone off enough that he left, because Harry really didn't want to spend more time than necessary with Gentleman Johnny. He may not hate the guy anymore, but...well, it was the principle of the thing. Harry didn't make a habit of consorting with people who insulted him as much as Marcone did.
Well, the ones that got away with it. Which happened to list...Marcone.
He'd never claimed maturity.
"I have a job for you." Marcone said, interrupting Harry's thoughts. Harry blinked. "You..." What? "I'm kind of disappointed, I think."
Marcone frowned. "Why?"
Harry signaled for the check and leaned back. "Well, the last time you tried to hire me, you kidnapped me. In a limo and everything. Now I rate gate-crashing my lunch?" Harry sighed. "Where has the romance gone?"
Marcone's mouth tightened slightly. "I thought you might be able to speak about this like an adult -"
"Well, there was your first mistake." Harry pulled back when he saw the tightness around Marcone's eyes, the tension in his arms - which had been there the whole time and how was he only just noticing? - become too much for him to control for a moment. He frowned slightly and sat forward, taking a deep breath. "Right. I...appologize."
That was enough to shake Marcone out of the anger-induced loss of control. "...what?"
Harry waved his hand uncomfortably. "I apologize? No matter what my personal politics are, I *am* professional enough to hear you out." He noticed Mac wave a piece of paper and set it on the counter and stood. "Come on, we'll take this to my office. You can tell me what the problem is on the way."
Marcone stood as well, but waited at the table while Harry paid for the meal and the beer. "I would prefer not going to your office," he said when they were walking toward the door. "The matter in question is...sensitive. I approached you here because it is...difficult for prying ears to find ways into. More so than your office, at any rate."
Harry coughed. "Uh...you do remember that technology tends to go 'pfft' around me, right?" Which, last he checked, would make bugging his office pretty difficult.
Marcone stared at him. "No, actually I'd *forgotten*." Harry started frowning. "You mean..." Marcone nodded. Harry narrowed his eyes. "You know this how...?" Marcone met his eyes with a bland smile and Harry sighed. "Right." Even the *implication* that someone could magically bug his office without him knowing, with all the wards he had up is worrying. Not only that, it was *insulting*.
They walked outside and - yeah, suspicious. He looked around the parking lot again but didn't see anything he could imagine Marcone driving. He gestured, arching his eyebrow. Marcone shook his head. Wonderful...what else could happen to make this day worse?
At least he'd finished his lunch.
Twenty minutes later, Harry wanted to shoot himself. What else could happen...? Way to tempt fate, Dresden. "So let me get this straight - the woman - Gard - works as freelance magic-for-hire, and you negotiated for a temporary contract. Now the contract is just about up, and you're suspicious that something's shady with the deal."
"To simplify it, yes."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "I like things simple. Less room for 'subjective interpretation' that way."
"Yes, in your line of work, I can see where you might appreciate that." Marcone paused. "Oh, wait...hm."
Harry frowned. "What?"
"I've read up on your...beginnings. And some of your recent exploits - those that could be found, at any rate - and I have found you to be rather...slippery, even with the most straightforward of bargains."
Harry pulled back slightly - he's researched me? - and glared. "You of all people should know - "
Marcone smiled, waved his hand dismissively. "And I do. That is why I am here."
"Which tells me nothing. What do you want me to do, John? Investigate Gard, find out whether she's playing both teams?" Marcone looked doubtful and Harry smirked. "It says investigator on my card and everything."
Marcone shook his head, face smoothing back to unreadable. "Unnecessary. I have...others already on the job." He smiled faintly, looking to the side. "No, Mr. Dresden, I need your...professional protection for a matter of gravest importance. One that, for reasons even you understand, has been...*veiled* in secrecy."
Harry stared in shock. "What - her? She's - "
"Showing...improvement. Restlessness." His mouth tightened. "I will allow no interruptions to her recovery. Do you understand?"
Harry shifted, folding his hands in his lap. "Hm." His eyes were distant. "I might be willing to take the job - " he held up his hand to stop Marcone from saying anything. "You have to be aware of a few things, first. I'm *always* on call for the Chicago PD. If they need me for a case, I *have* to leave. I know ways to seal a building against any intrusion, but it could be risky. If something were to happen to me, there's no way of knowing how the wards would react."
Marcone's mouth tightened. "It is partially your fault the issue is in question at all."
"Um - what?" Harry gaped.
"If I hadn't had to worry about you...investigating...my estate for the veil, I would never have hired Gard."
"That's some pretty skewed logic, Marcone." The man stared. Harry couldn't deny that he might feel partially responsible - but he didn't have to admit it, either. "I can put myself on emergency-status only, but they may call if there are murders."
"I only need you for two days. You stay the full time and I'll double your pay - " Harry opened his mouth to say that *that* wasn't the problem, but Marcone steamrolled him. " - and see that the Chicago Police Department receives a...generous donation for their own Special Investigations Unit's tireless efforts to protect the city from the more...eccletic crimes."
Harry frowned. "I don't take bribes." He paused and thought about it. Considered how badly Murphy would kick his ass if he accepted. "Usually." Hell, he was taking the job anyway, right? And it was for a good cause.
Marcone arched an eyebrow. "That's a yes."
"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Would've taken it before." He frowned. "But only at my usual rates." Marcone looked at him quizzically and Harry shrugged. "Karma's a bitch."
*
Three days later, as he thought back to the beginning of the most stressful nonlethal time of his adult life from the same table at McAnally's, Harry could only agree with himself yet again, and wonder if he was catching trouble for something he hadn't done yet, because what could he have done to *deserve* -
He thought about it and ordered another mug. He'd have to walk home tonight (unlikely) or cheat, but it'd be worth it.
"You never stopped by to pick up your payment," Marcone said, sitting down.
"Damn it!" Harry jerked and ended up with a sodding napkin from an earlier casualty of bar-traffic in his lap. His face twisted in disgust and he flicked the disintegrating mess back onto the table. "The reason I didn't show up is that I never want to see you again," he said, glaring. "If that was subtle, let's try this: I hate you. Go away." He grabbed a dry napkin and began patting down his thigh.
"May I inquire to what I owe this sudden hostility? It was reported the job went well."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the darkened part of his jeans. "Wasn't the job, that was pretty easy. There was one rough spot, but it was...taken cared of. Defused." He shook his head. "She's waking up, by the way. I'd give it a month, by her dreams."
"The Doctor's best estimate was six months, possibly." Marcone's mouth tightened. "...thank you."
Harry couldn't help laughing a little. He finally looked up. "You feel it a little, too, huh?"
"Feel what?"
"Even though you think I'm unprofessional and sloppy and a lot of other things you're public persona is too polite to say, you...respect me. Despite yourself."
Marcone watched Harry thoughtfully. "You're an effective practitioner of your art."
"And I rub you raw," Harry added.
"...often, that is the case."
"Yeah."
"The feeling is mutual, I know."
"If that helps you sleep." Harry kept his voice light. It was a joke, right? But he knew, and it wasn't a joke, really. Or it wasn't very funny. He could have been Marcone. He'd always known in that easily-ignorable part of his mind. It was a knowledge he couldn't afford to think about, except he did anyway. If Elaine had gotten out of the fire...*without* forcing Harry to think she was dead...if she'd fallen into a coma... Harry doesn't know what he would have done, how far he would have gone. He'd admit it.
Just not to Marcone.
What he would do is pour a drink and pass it to Marcone and do his best to ignore the speculative eyes on him the rest of the night. A guy can only be so hospitable, he reasoned. Even one with a cosmic debt as large as his.
When he gets up to pay the tab, Marcone waves him off and Harry shrugs and heads out to the parking lot. The Beetle is...obvious. He smiles a little. Sudden warmth at his back is startling, but he recognizes the bland-yet-still-distasteful cologne and starts to move away. Hands grip his arms securely, not painful yet, but...yet. "Is this the part where you double-cross me?"
Marcone's voice is just-barely-warm breath on the back of his neck. "Such a lack of trust in one so young...Harry." He actually managed to sound disappointed, and Harry was about three seconds away from calling up a repelling ward strong enough to knock Marcone out against a wall twenty feet away when his arms were released. He jerked away and spun, holding the repelling charm ready. "What. the. hell."
Marcone...smiled. The one that put Harry in mind of several words that were all about hunger tolerance. The cat that had the mouse firmly cornered and was content to watch it scrabble for escape. "Just...confirming a theory," he says. His voice was smooth and the smile fell away before he'd finished the sentence, leaving the too-familiar blank behind. "I apologize for any discomfort - "
Harry wasn't sure he *shouldn't* just let this go, considering the week he'd had, but he doesn't want to back down. "No way, Marcone. You just - what the *hell*?"
"Hell, indeed." Marcone's eyes narrowed. "Temptation is an...interesting device," he said thoughtfully.
Harry stared at him and wondered if he should start checking for pods.
Marcone smiled again, but this one was the mask, the Company smile. "Goodnight, Harry."
Harry watched him walk away and had the feeling he'd missed something important.
~~~
...right.