Dresden Files Fic Harry/Marcone
May. 11th, 2010 12:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grenegomeTitle: A Hard Day's Night
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Marcone pre-slash
Warnings: Language, slight violence.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: As you suspected, I do not own the Dresden Files.
Summary: Harry saves the world (well, Chicago, anyway) and as usual isn't thanked for it. Instead, he gets to spend the evening in undesirable company.
Notes: A big thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
vampyrancientko who did an awesome job betaing this for me. Remaining errors and oddities are my own.
Word Count: 2490
You can read the original version below, or a slightly cleaned up AO3 version here.
It sucks to save the world and get arrested for it. It really sucks when I get shoved into the same cop car as Marcone.
“Hey!” I protested at the kid in the driver’s seat. “How come he gets his hands cuffed in front of him?”
I couldn’t move my hands from where they were pinned behind me. I’m a tall guy, and the cuffs were adding to my discomfort at being folded into the back seat of the car.
Marcone, whose hands rested in his lap as if they weren’t graced by his shiny new metal bracelets, smiled slightly. “Perhaps it is because I’m more polite than you are, Mr. Dresden. That, and I didn’t resist arrest.”
“I wasn’t resisting! I was making sure Chicago wasn’t crushed by frost giants.”
“Refusing to drop your staff and bellowing nonsensical phrases does, in fact, look like resisting arrest to the uninformed.”
“I did drop it!” I complained. “As soon as the threat of imminent death was over.”
The rookie decided to interrupt.
“Shut it!” He said, as he turned to look me in the face. He probably didn’t want Marcone to think he was the one being shouted at. I ducked away from his gaze. “You can share your crazy with someone at the station.”
I thought about that for a moment. “You know, if I was mentally ill, I’d definitely sue you.”
“Shut. It.” The cop responded tersely.
I did. It had been a long night.
So long, apparently, that I fell asleep. I woke up when the car stopped at a traffic light, with my head on Marcone’s shoulder. He smelled of soap and expensive cologne.
“Ack!” I shouted, rapidly withdrawing to my side of the car. Marcone wore that patient brand of resigned amusement he often exhibited in my presence. Usually it provoked me into needling him, because I preferred a look of irritation to one that made me feel like some kind of clumsy kitten. A clumsy kitten that tripped over its own paws for Marcone’s amusement. Tonight I just didn’t have the energy to indulge in our traditional alpha male posturing. Instead I fretted at the question of why, exactly, John Marcone would suffer the insult of playing pillow for me. Possibly, a cleverly planned attempt to freak me out. Or future blackmail material.
“Tired, Harry? I understand you had a busy morning before the showdown by the lake. Are you feeling well?” Marcone asked with a smirk.
I glared at him. I was tired enough not to want to pick a fight, maybe. I was by no means tired or suicidal enough to admit to a weakness.
“You fell to your knees after closing the portal.” He noted. “You overexerted yourself. Again.”
“Standard operating procedure.” I muttered. “And there won’t be any supernatural baddies to fight at the station. So you can skip the phony concern, John.”
“No.” He said, levelly. “Not supernatural. I’ll venture a piece of advice you’re going to ignore, but you should keep your wit to yourself when we get there.”
“I make it a rule not to deprive the world of my gifts,” I yawned.
Marcone shook his head.
I shouldn’t have laughed at the immediate descent of Marcone’s lawyers on the station. In my defence, the gung-ho cops that had dragged me in weren’t SI, they’d ruined my already horrible day, and now they looked gratifyingly panicked. The sharks in well-cut suits weren’t going to do me any good, but I was getting a vindictive pleasure from the verbal barrage they launched at junior-cop before he could get us through booking.
Sadly, I was extracted from this spectacle by his more experienced partner. The older cop was pragmatic enough to sacrifice his rookie to their slavering briefcases. Ignoring Marcone’s polite requests that he be allowed to speak to his attorney, he manoeuvred us towards the duty officer.
I’ve been arrested before, but never actually convicted. A record would be pretty damaging for me, professionally speaking. I was kind of hoping Murphy might sweep in to play lady-knight in shining armour, but so far senior-cop seemed dedicated to booking us.
I hadn’t been paying too much attention.
“Wait, what are they charging us with?” I asked. I was pretty sure that technically, nothing I did today was illegal. I had the sense to toss my gun in the lake before the cops had gotten near me.
“Disturbing the peace, and possibly something regarding an unlicensed pyrotechnic display.” Marcone replied softly. “They seem a little uncertain about that. They also seem unsure as to what they should do with us.”
“And I’m telling you Wayne, there is no damn space!” The duty officer snapped. Irritation made her oddly pretty as she glared up at her colleague.
“Suzie. Suzie. Are you trying to tell me every cell in this place is full?” Wayne replied, incredulous. “Dispatch couldn’t have mentioned that little fact when we called this in? What is it, there a full moon out tonight?”
Huh. That might have something to do with the invocation ritual I had to dismantle earlier. The heavy-duty working I’d smashed through by the lakeside had been casting off a lot of psychic residue before I nuked it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the more psychically inclined denizens of Chicago had hulked out a little when it was still going strong. Leaving the cops to clear up, as usual.
“I don’t mind going home if there’s no room at the Inn.” I suggested, helpfully.
They ignored me.
“Suze, stick them in the goddamn drunk tank if you want to, but stick them somewhere. That’s John Marcone. I’m not letting him walk even if I have to lock him in the goddamn stationery cupboard.”
“Also, I’m not with the mob, if that’s relevant.” I offered, with a tentative smile.
Marcone somehow managed to step on my toes. “This will progress much faster if you cease contributing to the conversation.”
I contemplated kicking him in the shins, before deciding I valued our mutual pact of non-aggression too highly. He’d probably dodge. “You’ll miss my insights, when you’re stacking post-it notes and counting pens by yourself.” I retorted, instead.
Senior cop seemed to have scored some kind of minor victory, because he broke away with a grin.
“Right this way. Gentlemen.” He sneered the last word, which confirmed he belonged firmly to the fifty percent of the Chicago PD that Johnnie couldn’t bribe his way round.
We did end up in the drunk tank. If you've never had the opportunity to spend a night in one, it’s basically just a big room where three of the walls are made of bars. There are benches lining the walls, all made out of metal. The floor is concrete. Easy to hose down after you have drunks lying there in their own juices.
There were six men already there, and they didn't look particularly drunk. They weren't sprawled out on the benches. They were standing, pacing, and throwing dark looks at one another. I was willing to bet they were shaking off the angry Hulk magic that'd been crawling throughout Chicago tonight. Bozo smash. Bozo grab. Great. I never really liked the Hulk.
As I stepped through the door held generously open by Office Wayne, Marcone slipped in behind me, sliding his way off into one of the corners. In his dark combat gear, leaning casually against the bars, you’d never have placed him as a mafia kingpin. He didn’t look particularly interesting. Whilst I, on the other hand, with my lanky figure, and my long coat that the CPD hadn’t tried to relieve me of (though they had emptied all the pockets and been a little puzzled by their contents), drew a hell of a lot more attention. Oh well. At least I wasn’t cuffed anymore.
As unfriendly glances came my way, and Officer Wayne made his exit, I realised that there was a distinct lack of supervision on this drunk tank. Maybe senior cop also belonged to the percentage of the Police Department that wouldn’t mind John Marcone meeting a mysterious and violent end.
It took me about five minutes to get in trouble. Sadly, that isn’t my personal best. Mostly because some overly muscled idiot decided he admired my coat. If I’d been smarter, I’d have given it to him and then asked a cop to reclaim it later. As it was, I had to duck a couple of punches.
I had no staff, no rod, and no rings. Not even my damn bracelet. Trying to evocate indoors with no foci and all those unforgiving metal surfaces around me would probably result in shattering the first law of magic into lots of little pieces. Bad idea, even if I had the raw power left.
I probably shouldn’t have made that comment about his sex life.
I was doing fine though, until one of the bystanders decided to club me around the back of the head. Ow.
I staggered to the floor, just as a voice rang out.
“Enough!” Everyone froze. It was a voice comfortable with authority, and it definitely wasn’t a cop.
“I don’t intend to remain in here long, so I hadn’t bothered with introductions. But some of you may recognise me. My name is John Marcone.”
There was a chorus of muffled swearwords, and one slow “what?” hushed by a whisper of, “Gentleman Johnnie.”
The guy about to kick me in the ribs stepped back, looking nauseous.
“Man, if he’s one of yours, I’m sorry. He didn’t say!”
I staggered upright. “I’m not-”
“Harry,” he snapped. “I think you’ve landed yourself in enough trouble this evening.” That was a valid point, but I don’t take well to being bossed around, even when I’m being rescued. I opened my mouth to object again, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.
“He is not, in fact, one of mine. Nevertheless, he is off limits for the rest of our stay. Anyone to touch him answers to me.”
“Did you hit your head when that frost giant dropped you?” I demanded. His tone had been bizarrely...proprietary.
And then he was in front of me, his hand pushing me back against the bars before I could regain my balance.
Marcone is a restrained kind of man. He doesn’t touch casually. He, especially, doesn’t touch me. I know these things about John Marcone, or at least I thought I did. Our current situation continued merrily contradicting these certainties as he hissed, “Are you honestly stubborn enough to reject my assistance?”
“Your kind of assistance comes with a price tag.” I snarled back, thinking fuck it, this was it. Our tense detente was finally, inevitably, about to burn to the ground. Over nothing. Chicago might never recover.
“It’s already paid for,” he said coldly. “You recall we agreed to an alliance for the evening?”
Huh.
“I thought that wrapped up when I closed the gateway?”
“You thought wrong.” He said, staring up at me unflinching. It’s not an easy thing, meeting John Marcone’s intense gaze, especially for a man who spends most social interactions avoiding eye contact. But I’m not used to having things easy.
“We got a problem here?” I looked over Marcone’s shoulder to see the familiar figure of Rawlins, just outside the bars of the doorway. The cavalry finally arrived. Go Murph!
“No.” I grinned. “No problem.”
Marcone dropped his hand from my chest but didn’t step away from me, or turn to face Rawlins. He straightened the collar of my coat idly, and I resisted the urge to slap his hands away when I realised how phenomenally stupid that would look.
“Good to hear.” Rawlins asserted, slowly. His eyes stayed focused on Marcone, as if he expected the man to abruptly start throttling me.
He wouldn’t. Not with witnesses around.
Finally, apparently satisfied with the state of my coat, Marcone turned to lean against the wall beside me. I decided that between a notoriously territorial mafia don and a sympathetic police officer, I wouldn’t get the crap kicked out of me if I accidentally fell asleep. I obeyed my weary legs and sat down.
Marcone’s lawyers sprung us an hour later.
Slightly confused, I followed Marcone out of the station. I hadn't intended to let him lead, but he slyly blocked all my attempts to walk in front of him.
“They got me out too?” I queried, as we came to a halt outside the main entrance. What, exactly, was this was going to cost me?
“Temporary. Alliance.” Marcone said, with a slight tension in his mouth that meant he wasn’t in the mood to argue with me.
A shiny black Bentley pulled up at the kerb, in front of us.
“It’s dawn.” I pointed out. I’m contrary by nature. “Past alliance time.”
He eyed me. “Take it as a favour if you must. I’m not averse to having you in my debt.”
“Huh. I am. Maybe I should go and smash a car window and get sent back.” I yawned again. Damn my treacherous body.
“No.” Marcone decreed. And there was that authority again, as he stiffly turned to give me his full attention. “You are going home. To sleep. You will not indulge in petty vandalism to make a point. Now please get in the car.”
A besuited lackey got out of the driver's seat and opened the back door for us. I wondered where Hendricks and Gard had ended up.
“You,” I pointed out, “are not the boss of me, John Marcone.”
“Mr. Dresden. Enough. Your autonomy is noted. The fact that you would like to go home and sleep can, I believe, safely coexist with the fact that I would like you to do the same. For once in our long and mutually frustrating acquaintance, humour me, and get in the car.”
I opened my mouth, ready to blow him off, before something stopped me. His posture was perfect, his voice steady, and his eyes clear. I wasn’t the only one who had suffered a long day. Still, he was there, unflinching and immovable, determined to wrap up every loose end before he rested.
“Ok.” I said, surprising even myself. The shocked blink that slipped past Marcone’s iron control was worth it, and I slid into the back seat of his expensive car.
“Aren’t you coming?” I asked, brightly, as he stood there watching me.
After a moment he gave one of his half-smiles and got in beside me.
“Well. At least you keep things interesting, Mr. Dresden. Try not to fall asleep on me this time.”
“I’m not stupid enough to fall asleep now. God knows where I’d end up.”
“In bed.” He promised, but this time his smile said things I didn’t quite understand. It was my turn to blink, and I buckled my seatbelt in silence.
I’d work it out eventually. I always do.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Marcone pre-slash
Warnings: Language, slight violence.
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: As you suspected, I do not own the Dresden Files.
Summary: Harry saves the world (well, Chicago, anyway) and as usual isn't thanked for it. Instead, he gets to spend the evening in undesirable company.
Notes: A big thank you to
vampyrancientko who did an awesome job betaing this for me. Remaining errors and oddities are my own.Word Count: 2490
You can read the original version below, or a slightly cleaned up AO3 version here.
It sucks to save the world and get arrested for it. It really sucks when I get shoved into the same cop car as Marcone.
“Hey!” I protested at the kid in the driver’s seat. “How come he gets his hands cuffed in front of him?”
I couldn’t move my hands from where they were pinned behind me. I’m a tall guy, and the cuffs were adding to my discomfort at being folded into the back seat of the car.
Marcone, whose hands rested in his lap as if they weren’t graced by his shiny new metal bracelets, smiled slightly. “Perhaps it is because I’m more polite than you are, Mr. Dresden. That, and I didn’t resist arrest.”
“I wasn’t resisting! I was making sure Chicago wasn’t crushed by frost giants.”
“Refusing to drop your staff and bellowing nonsensical phrases does, in fact, look like resisting arrest to the uninformed.”
“I did drop it!” I complained. “As soon as the threat of imminent death was over.”
The rookie decided to interrupt.
“Shut it!” He said, as he turned to look me in the face. He probably didn’t want Marcone to think he was the one being shouted at. I ducked away from his gaze. “You can share your crazy with someone at the station.”
I thought about that for a moment. “You know, if I was mentally ill, I’d definitely sue you.”
“Shut. It.” The cop responded tersely.
I did. It had been a long night.
So long, apparently, that I fell asleep. I woke up when the car stopped at a traffic light, with my head on Marcone’s shoulder. He smelled of soap and expensive cologne.
“Ack!” I shouted, rapidly withdrawing to my side of the car. Marcone wore that patient brand of resigned amusement he often exhibited in my presence. Usually it provoked me into needling him, because I preferred a look of irritation to one that made me feel like some kind of clumsy kitten. A clumsy kitten that tripped over its own paws for Marcone’s amusement. Tonight I just didn’t have the energy to indulge in our traditional alpha male posturing. Instead I fretted at the question of why, exactly, John Marcone would suffer the insult of playing pillow for me. Possibly, a cleverly planned attempt to freak me out. Or future blackmail material.
“Tired, Harry? I understand you had a busy morning before the showdown by the lake. Are you feeling well?” Marcone asked with a smirk.
I glared at him. I was tired enough not to want to pick a fight, maybe. I was by no means tired or suicidal enough to admit to a weakness.
“You fell to your knees after closing the portal.” He noted. “You overexerted yourself. Again.”
“Standard operating procedure.” I muttered. “And there won’t be any supernatural baddies to fight at the station. So you can skip the phony concern, John.”
“No.” He said, levelly. “Not supernatural. I’ll venture a piece of advice you’re going to ignore, but you should keep your wit to yourself when we get there.”
“I make it a rule not to deprive the world of my gifts,” I yawned.
Marcone shook his head.
I shouldn’t have laughed at the immediate descent of Marcone’s lawyers on the station. In my defence, the gung-ho cops that had dragged me in weren’t SI, they’d ruined my already horrible day, and now they looked gratifyingly panicked. The sharks in well-cut suits weren’t going to do me any good, but I was getting a vindictive pleasure from the verbal barrage they launched at junior-cop before he could get us through booking.
Sadly, I was extracted from this spectacle by his more experienced partner. The older cop was pragmatic enough to sacrifice his rookie to their slavering briefcases. Ignoring Marcone’s polite requests that he be allowed to speak to his attorney, he manoeuvred us towards the duty officer.
I’ve been arrested before, but never actually convicted. A record would be pretty damaging for me, professionally speaking. I was kind of hoping Murphy might sweep in to play lady-knight in shining armour, but so far senior-cop seemed dedicated to booking us.
I hadn’t been paying too much attention.
“Wait, what are they charging us with?” I asked. I was pretty sure that technically, nothing I did today was illegal. I had the sense to toss my gun in the lake before the cops had gotten near me.
“Disturbing the peace, and possibly something regarding an unlicensed pyrotechnic display.” Marcone replied softly. “They seem a little uncertain about that. They also seem unsure as to what they should do with us.”
“And I’m telling you Wayne, there is no damn space!” The duty officer snapped. Irritation made her oddly pretty as she glared up at her colleague.
“Suzie. Suzie. Are you trying to tell me every cell in this place is full?” Wayne replied, incredulous. “Dispatch couldn’t have mentioned that little fact when we called this in? What is it, there a full moon out tonight?”
Huh. That might have something to do with the invocation ritual I had to dismantle earlier. The heavy-duty working I’d smashed through by the lakeside had been casting off a lot of psychic residue before I nuked it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the more psychically inclined denizens of Chicago had hulked out a little when it was still going strong. Leaving the cops to clear up, as usual.
“I don’t mind going home if there’s no room at the Inn.” I suggested, helpfully.
They ignored me.
“Suze, stick them in the goddamn drunk tank if you want to, but stick them somewhere. That’s John Marcone. I’m not letting him walk even if I have to lock him in the goddamn stationery cupboard.”
“Also, I’m not with the mob, if that’s relevant.” I offered, with a tentative smile.
Marcone somehow managed to step on my toes. “This will progress much faster if you cease contributing to the conversation.”
I contemplated kicking him in the shins, before deciding I valued our mutual pact of non-aggression too highly. He’d probably dodge. “You’ll miss my insights, when you’re stacking post-it notes and counting pens by yourself.” I retorted, instead.
Senior cop seemed to have scored some kind of minor victory, because he broke away with a grin.
“Right this way. Gentlemen.” He sneered the last word, which confirmed he belonged firmly to the fifty percent of the Chicago PD that Johnnie couldn’t bribe his way round.
We did end up in the drunk tank. If you've never had the opportunity to spend a night in one, it’s basically just a big room where three of the walls are made of bars. There are benches lining the walls, all made out of metal. The floor is concrete. Easy to hose down after you have drunks lying there in their own juices.
There were six men already there, and they didn't look particularly drunk. They weren't sprawled out on the benches. They were standing, pacing, and throwing dark looks at one another. I was willing to bet they were shaking off the angry Hulk magic that'd been crawling throughout Chicago tonight. Bozo smash. Bozo grab. Great. I never really liked the Hulk.
As I stepped through the door held generously open by Office Wayne, Marcone slipped in behind me, sliding his way off into one of the corners. In his dark combat gear, leaning casually against the bars, you’d never have placed him as a mafia kingpin. He didn’t look particularly interesting. Whilst I, on the other hand, with my lanky figure, and my long coat that the CPD hadn’t tried to relieve me of (though they had emptied all the pockets and been a little puzzled by their contents), drew a hell of a lot more attention. Oh well. At least I wasn’t cuffed anymore.
As unfriendly glances came my way, and Officer Wayne made his exit, I realised that there was a distinct lack of supervision on this drunk tank. Maybe senior cop also belonged to the percentage of the Police Department that wouldn’t mind John Marcone meeting a mysterious and violent end.
It took me about five minutes to get in trouble. Sadly, that isn’t my personal best. Mostly because some overly muscled idiot decided he admired my coat. If I’d been smarter, I’d have given it to him and then asked a cop to reclaim it later. As it was, I had to duck a couple of punches.
I had no staff, no rod, and no rings. Not even my damn bracelet. Trying to evocate indoors with no foci and all those unforgiving metal surfaces around me would probably result in shattering the first law of magic into lots of little pieces. Bad idea, even if I had the raw power left.
I probably shouldn’t have made that comment about his sex life.
I was doing fine though, until one of the bystanders decided to club me around the back of the head. Ow.
I staggered to the floor, just as a voice rang out.
“Enough!” Everyone froze. It was a voice comfortable with authority, and it definitely wasn’t a cop.
“I don’t intend to remain in here long, so I hadn’t bothered with introductions. But some of you may recognise me. My name is John Marcone.”
There was a chorus of muffled swearwords, and one slow “what?” hushed by a whisper of, “Gentleman Johnnie.”
The guy about to kick me in the ribs stepped back, looking nauseous.
“Man, if he’s one of yours, I’m sorry. He didn’t say!”
I staggered upright. “I’m not-”
“Harry,” he snapped. “I think you’ve landed yourself in enough trouble this evening.” That was a valid point, but I don’t take well to being bossed around, even when I’m being rescued. I opened my mouth to object again, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.
“He is not, in fact, one of mine. Nevertheless, he is off limits for the rest of our stay. Anyone to touch him answers to me.”
“Did you hit your head when that frost giant dropped you?” I demanded. His tone had been bizarrely...proprietary.
And then he was in front of me, his hand pushing me back against the bars before I could regain my balance.
Marcone is a restrained kind of man. He doesn’t touch casually. He, especially, doesn’t touch me. I know these things about John Marcone, or at least I thought I did. Our current situation continued merrily contradicting these certainties as he hissed, “Are you honestly stubborn enough to reject my assistance?”
“Your kind of assistance comes with a price tag.” I snarled back, thinking fuck it, this was it. Our tense detente was finally, inevitably, about to burn to the ground. Over nothing. Chicago might never recover.
“It’s already paid for,” he said coldly. “You recall we agreed to an alliance for the evening?”
Huh.
“I thought that wrapped up when I closed the gateway?”
“You thought wrong.” He said, staring up at me unflinching. It’s not an easy thing, meeting John Marcone’s intense gaze, especially for a man who spends most social interactions avoiding eye contact. But I’m not used to having things easy.
“We got a problem here?” I looked over Marcone’s shoulder to see the familiar figure of Rawlins, just outside the bars of the doorway. The cavalry finally arrived. Go Murph!
“No.” I grinned. “No problem.”
Marcone dropped his hand from my chest but didn’t step away from me, or turn to face Rawlins. He straightened the collar of my coat idly, and I resisted the urge to slap his hands away when I realised how phenomenally stupid that would look.
“Good to hear.” Rawlins asserted, slowly. His eyes stayed focused on Marcone, as if he expected the man to abruptly start throttling me.
He wouldn’t. Not with witnesses around.
Finally, apparently satisfied with the state of my coat, Marcone turned to lean against the wall beside me. I decided that between a notoriously territorial mafia don and a sympathetic police officer, I wouldn’t get the crap kicked out of me if I accidentally fell asleep. I obeyed my weary legs and sat down.
Marcone’s lawyers sprung us an hour later.
Slightly confused, I followed Marcone out of the station. I hadn't intended to let him lead, but he slyly blocked all my attempts to walk in front of him.
“They got me out too?” I queried, as we came to a halt outside the main entrance. What, exactly, was this was going to cost me?
“Temporary. Alliance.” Marcone said, with a slight tension in his mouth that meant he wasn’t in the mood to argue with me.
A shiny black Bentley pulled up at the kerb, in front of us.
“It’s dawn.” I pointed out. I’m contrary by nature. “Past alliance time.”
He eyed me. “Take it as a favour if you must. I’m not averse to having you in my debt.”
“Huh. I am. Maybe I should go and smash a car window and get sent back.” I yawned again. Damn my treacherous body.
“No.” Marcone decreed. And there was that authority again, as he stiffly turned to give me his full attention. “You are going home. To sleep. You will not indulge in petty vandalism to make a point. Now please get in the car.”
A besuited lackey got out of the driver's seat and opened the back door for us. I wondered where Hendricks and Gard had ended up.
“You,” I pointed out, “are not the boss of me, John Marcone.”
“Mr. Dresden. Enough. Your autonomy is noted. The fact that you would like to go home and sleep can, I believe, safely coexist with the fact that I would like you to do the same. For once in our long and mutually frustrating acquaintance, humour me, and get in the car.”
I opened my mouth, ready to blow him off, before something stopped me. His posture was perfect, his voice steady, and his eyes clear. I wasn’t the only one who had suffered a long day. Still, he was there, unflinching and immovable, determined to wrap up every loose end before he rested.
“Ok.” I said, surprising even myself. The shocked blink that slipped past Marcone’s iron control was worth it, and I slid into the back seat of his expensive car.
“Aren’t you coming?” I asked, brightly, as he stood there watching me.
After a moment he gave one of his half-smiles and got in beside me.
“Well. At least you keep things interesting, Mr. Dresden. Try not to fall asleep on me this time.”
“I’m not stupid enough to fall asleep now. God knows where I’d end up.”
“In bed.” He promised, but this time his smile said things I didn’t quite understand. It was my turn to blink, and I buckled my seatbelt in silence.
I’d work it out eventually. I always do.
