FIC: other things the road to hell is paved with [14/?]

[luciazephyr]

ohmigawd, I feel terrible right now, what the hell.

:has Fiona Apple's "Paper Bag" on repeat: I need to eventually make a Dresden/Marcone fanmix. And maybe make a separate comm for this fic... It's so large and I update it so often, it might be a good idea to just give it a separate comm until it's finished. I wonder if I'm annoying the non-Dresden fen on my FList. Something to ponder.


Title: other things the road to hell is paved with [14/?]
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, potentially R or NC-17 later.
Summary: Another way the Baron rose to power. Another way the wizard became a Knight.
Word Count: This chapter: 5327. So far: 76003.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen

Despite having pretty much designed the thing myself, I had yet to see John's new office-cum-magical bunker. It was in some building he was renovating. I called and got directions, and after an hour of navigating traffic wound up in front of a very nice multi-storied building with a clean, modern stone facade. The frosted glass doors proclaimed it Executive Priority. Which had to be up there with Ganymede as far as pretentious, vague names went.

Upon entering, being stopped by guards, and warding them off with a simple utterance of my name-- did the entire city know who I was thanks to John?-- I found out that Executive Priority was apparently a ridiculously exclusive spa and gym. The aesthetic seemed to be taking its cues from the old Opal Office, a lot of glass of varying opacities, shiny floors, chrome fixtures. A lot of it was still being finished with contracted workers carrying things from room to room, polishing floors, and cleaning out the dust. An electrician was setting up sleek, pearly computers up at the front desk. I steered clear of them, just in case.

I poked my nose around for a while before Cujo caught me in the zen garden. I was drawing a rocket into the smooth sands with the tip of my staff when he stuck his head into the room. "Dresden."

"Hi," I said cheerfully, adding some fire to the end of the rocket.

"What are you, five?"

"No, I just keep in touch with my inner child." I etched some stars into the scene I was making. "John busy?"

"For you? Nah." He waved me along, leading me upstairs.

The office was coming together. The floors were laid, along with the mock-threshold. I stood just outside it, looking around. I could see the realization of my design very well, as the furniture hadn't been brought into the room yet. The complicated parquet flooring was gorgeous off the page and actualized. I took a minute picking out the pentacle hidden in the woodwork and the empty slots waiting for the silver discs I'd yet to place.

It was hard not to look like an idiot when you were wearing a orange hard hat and a Dior Homme suit, but It would likely take concentrated effort for John to look anything less than immaculate. He was speaking in quiet tones to one of the workers, pointing to the mirror being embedded in the far wall, the basis for a mirror ward that would kick the ass of anyone who attempted a long-range curse on John. Mirrors always made me nervous, and I wanted to step forward and quiz the worker myself to make sure the mirror placement was perfect, that the barrier runes inscribed around the outside were correct, but stayed put, leaning on the door frame instead.

Hendricks waited for a break in the conversation and touched John's arm lightly. He turned, eyes finding mine in an instant and...

I looked away. I don't know why, exactly. There was just too much.... too much everything in his eyes. I wish I hadn't started noticing that because now it seemed I couldn't stop.

I heard him come closer and lean on the door frame, on the other side of the threshold. "Harry."

"John. Got some time?"

"Perhaps." I dared to meet his eyes again. He gestured to the office. "What do you think?"

I nodded. "It's... good. Really good."

"I assumed as much, since you haven't tried to come inside. The threshold works?"

"It'll work better once I get everything connected to the ley lines."

"Excellent." He left the room, fingertips just barely brushing along my arm. "I have a quiet place we can discuss things. Oh, but first," he turned back to me. "You have my standing invitation to enter my office anytime you like, Harry Dresden."

I bit my lip to suppress my grin. "You shouldn't just do that, John."

"I'll be careful. Come along."

I followed, head ducked, and mentally berated myself to chill out. Of course he invited me in. We were in this together, it'd only save time in the long run. But it still made my chest tight with... something. Excitement, anticipation, something else.

We shut ourselves in a finished, unadorned room that Marcone seemed to be using as an interim office. Hendricks stood by the door, which lacked a proper lock so a bodyguard version would have to do. I pulled my spiral notebook out of my duster pocket and tossed it on the desk. "There. Your briefing on Red Court Vampires."

John stared at the notebook for a moment. "Red Court Vampires."

"Yep." I flopped down in a loose sprawl in one of the guest chairs, slouched far down so my legs stretched out. "Bianca and her House are Reds."

"That... that would imply that there are other varieties of vampire," he murmured.

"Red, White, Black, and Jade. Though there's no Jade Court House on this continent that I know of, so we don't have to worry about them." I laughed at his sudden reticence. "Second thoughts, John?"

"No! No." He shook his head and sat down, pulling my notes towards him. "Just give me a moment to look at this, would you?"

"Have at." I shut my eyes and relaxed into the seat.



Over the next two hours, I snuck in a short nap, talked about some of the latest movies with Hendricks, and watched as John gradually ruined the crisp, perfect part of his hair from all the times he ran his fingers through it. He'd read my report three times, then went through it a fourth time with a red pen and blue highlighter, jotting things down all over my notebook.

"I'm not getting that back, am I?" At that, John lifted his head and gave me a long, slow blink. I relented with, "Buy me a new one."

"I'll buy you as many as you like." He flipped the notebook closed. "And something better than dollar store brand," he added, looking with distaste at the cover's gaudy, cheap paisley pattern.

"So." I rocked back on the hind legs of the chair, balancing so I swayed minutely to and fro. "Thoughts?"

"Yes. Many." He steepled his fingers, which was reminding me less of a supervillain and more of just him, one of his tics. He rested his mouth against his fingers, tapping lightly as he organized his thoughts. "If the Margravine's House is expanding..." He sighed. "A quick, scorched earth tactic would have been suitable the day after her taking power. By now, she will be in the process of collecting innocents to feed upon. Addicting them, bending their minds, putting the suitable ones to work in her Velvet Room..." He grimaced.

"You don't approve, I take it."

"I always disliked those who... sample their own wares, be it in the drug or sex trades. What the Margravine does is a perverse extension of that." He waved a hand. "My point is that we'll have to find a way to push this Red Court out of Chicago. To make it so Margravine St. Clair would benefit from leaving and taking her kind with her." He brought his pen to his lips, running the cap idly, tracing the bow of his mouth as he talked. You'd think he was orally fixated, the way he kept doing that...

I zoned out a little, watching him. "Sorry, what?"

John shot me a displeased look before repeating himself. "I said, however we proceed, we must avoid endangering the lives of those enthralled in the House."

"Yeah, of course."

He hummed, watching me. "You're slower than normal, Harry. Go home, get some sleep. The solution we need won't present itself immediately."

I bobbed my head. "'Kay. Sounds good to me." If I was dozing off while listening to him, he was probably right. It was never a good idea to deal with John without all your mental faculties in order.

As I stood and got my staff, he asked, "Can I have someone drive you home?"

"Nah, got the Beetle, I'm good."

Just the mention of my faithful automotive companion brought a frown to his face. "Let me buy you a new car for your birthday, please."

I laughed. I don't know what the Beetle did to offend him, but it had done a good job of it. There was the matter that John could afford to make good on getting me a car though, and I had to shut him down before he got any ideas. "You get me a car for my birthday and I swear I will drive the fucking thing into the Lake. I'm not kidding."

He sighed. "So can I expect you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? For what?"

"To go over some possible courses of action."

That seemed like jumping the gun to me. I mean, planning to drive out a horde of deeply entrenched Reds should have taken a little while. It wasn't the sort of thing you had hashed out over brunch. "Don't you need some time to plan first?"

I got another impatient hand wave. "I already have a few plans in mind. I simply need a few hours to see what favors are owed to me and how to orchestrate certain events."

"Favors? Is that your term for pointing a gun at someone until they answer 'how high' when you say 'jump?'" He made it sound so innocent, if that was the case.

John smiled at me, his expression amused but infinitely patient. "Harry, you'll find my favorite currencies are favors and secrets. Violence and threats aren't good for business outside of establishing dominance. It is always better to simply make it profitable for people to work with you of their own volition."

God, he was creepy sometimes. That hadn't changed now that we were signed onto this mad-cap scheme together. 'Establishing dominance,' who used phrases like that besides David Attenborough? I headed for the door. "Bye, John."

"Sleep well, Harry."



It was like I was back working on the project with John. I spent my day as I normally did, putting in some office hours, checking in on my friends, then went over to see John in the evening.

Tonight, the new office was empty and I took the time to install the thirteen silver disks into the floor under his watchful eyes. As I did, John paced in circles around the room, outlining his plan for Bianca.

"There are certain structural and health codes that must be followed by any business in Chicago, even one posing as an escort service." He sounded like he was speaking from experience there. "I have a friend in Health and Safety who could perform a surprise inspection for us."

I inelegantly pounded my fist on a disk to force it into the parquet flooring. John looked about to ask if I needed help, which I didn't, thanks. I pointed out a flaw in his plan to distract him. "Bianca will work her mojo to make sure the inspector doesn't care if she's using toothpicks as support beams."

John's face fell into something like a pout, but much more mature and befitting a man of his stature. Still, it resembled pouting. "Is there nothing we could do to counteract the venom?"

"Well..." I sat back on my haunches, brushing my sweat-damp bangs out of my face. Cujo stepped out of the non-existent shadows and pulled my coat off my shoulders, which helped a good deal. "Thanks, Cujo. I could probably make an anti-venom potion, but we'd have to find a way to make him drink it without clueing him in. And potions universally taste like crap." That's what happened when you cooked with metaphor and association instead of actual ingredients. In the end, you still had to drink the thing and symbolism wasn't tasty.

"I'll take care of it." John resumed his staid pacing.

He walked by me, and I glanced up at him through my eyelashes, hands still set to my task. "I thought you didn't poison drinks because it was tacky."

"This is not poisoning. If anything it's... fortifying."

"All right then, how about this? What happens when Bianca just up and eats your inspector buddy?"

"Your report says the Red Court works in close proximity to humans by influencing and manipulating mortal authorities." He stopped, staring down at me with his hands folded in front of him. "A mysterious disappearance would not attract the type of attention the Margravine wants. And, as opportunistic as it sounds, if she was stupid enough to act so heavy-handedly, it would make our task immeasurably easier. Trust me on the mundane end of our plans, Harry."

I snorted. If he thought he could handle it, fine, I could go with that. "All right, so your plan is to remove the Red Court via Health and Safety," I said, voice deeply sardonic.

He looked vaguely offended by my skepticism. "It's one step in the plan. If the Margravine's brought up on code violations, she'll have to hire a contractor to fix them. Thus, she'd have to use a contractor known for being discreet about... extra-legal activities like running a sex trade. At this point, she had no reason to expect hostility from me, and the company she will undoubtedly hire for her repairs is one that belongs to me."

I had to laugh at that. "Hell's bells, is there a pie in this city you don't have a finger in?"

John finally joined me on the floor, folding himself delicately down to sit across from me as I worked another disk into the floor. "I would have to check my records to say for sure. I daresay there must be something." He grinned briefly before his face went back to business mode. "Now, my people repair her building problems and at the same time install a few contingency measures in case our situation becomes dire. I'll have the newspapers report on the situation, coloring the Velvet Room as an unsafe business environment that will do absolutely anything to cut costs."

The entire idea was a little strange to me. Maybe because I was a direct approach kind of guy and John was... not. "So we're taking down a Red Court House with surprise inspections and smear campaigns."

"You are not actually this oblivious, are you?" He ignored my indignant noise and elaborated. "Think about it, Harry. We are threatening her House. The literal symbol of her power. She is meant to protect her people, give them safe harbor, feed them. What we're doing will bring up questions about whether she is a capable Margravine just after she received her title. It'll be humiliating and weaken her position in her Court."

"You think that'll help?"

"We are dealing with monsters, perhaps, but we are dealing with a society of them that is subject to the same politicking and social hierarchy. It is always prudent to weaken your enemy before open hostility."

I nodded along and had to admit, even if I had John's resources, I would not have considered anything like this. Maybe Bob was right to joke that I was a practitioner of the burn first, ask questions later persuasion. Then again, if you told me a year ago I'd be taking on a Red Court House, I'd have laughed in your face and told you even I wasn't that reckless. John made the endeavor sound like simple business. "Well, sounds like you've got all of this under control. Maybe I'll take a vacation."

John chuckled low in his throat. "Not feeling neglected, are you? I assure you, I'll need your services in a more hands-on manner soon. When you threaten someone's territory, they usually react violently in defense. You once told me something about not hitting beehives unless I wanted to get stung?"

I spun a disk between my fingers, showing off a little magician's dexterity. John watched appreciatively, which I was... okay with. "What do you want me to do?"

"For now, not much. Keep your head down, brew me that anti-venom potion, and please stop shaking the tails I put on you."

Oh, so he'd heard about that. Often when I went about my day, I'd discover a car following me at a distance. They never did anything, just observed. I got a kick out of losing them, if only because a seasoned mobster who can't follow Joseph's Technicolor DreamBug must have felt pretty pathetic. "It's good practice for my driving skills."

"They're for your safety."

"You're a fucking stalker, have I mentioned that?"

John didn't smile, but I could see he wanted to. "I believe you have, once or twice. But please, Harry. We're instigating trouble with the Margravine. I want to know you'll have backup when you need it."

I looked down at my work, wedging another disk in. There was that thing he did again, the worrying. For as overindulged he was with his fine suits and his palatial home and his magically reinforced offices, he never wanted his people to go to waste.

"Harry."

"Fine, fine. You owe me, scumbag," I muttered.

"I assure you, I don't mind," he murmured.



And so it was that the Business section had an article on Bianca St. Clair, owner of the Velvet Room, falling into a bit of trouble when her business license was suspended due to a major structural problem discovered in her establishment after a surprise inspection. I tried not to feel smug when I read the root of the problem seemed to be some poorly repaired fire damage. The article was scathing and blasted Bianca, just as John said it would. It managed to say, 'for all your brothel needs, go elsewhere' without actually mentioning what Bianca's business was.

"Interesting that this inspection happens right after the party," Susan said, sipping her cappuccino as she read the paper next to me. My apartment was filled with cooling anti-venom potions-- John thought it'd be a good idea to stock up while we could-- so we went out to a nice cafe instead of lounging around at my place.

"Yeah, weird timing, that," I said noncommittally. I didn't want to encourage Susan's interest. The last time she heard something juicy about the Red Court, she'd thrown herself into danger for the greater good, and that was my gig, thank you. Things were about to get infinitely more dangerous. John's inclination towards damage control would only stretch so far.

So I was keeping something big from my girlfriend. She didn't know about the Red Court and she didn't know about my new arrangement with John. It wasn't that I didn't trust her, but the situation was complicated.

And I was scared she'd disapprove. Hell, I expected more support from Michael and the Alphas over this than I did from my own girlfriend. Not that we didn't... have... emotions and such. (I have a deep-set fear of the L-word, it's stupid and macho, I know.) Because we did. I cared about Susan and I thought she cared about me as well.

But she did 'borrow' John's phone number out of my black book and she did take that invitation to Bianca's party. She used me as a resource for her articles and for tips. And I was okay with that most of the time, but that didn't stop me from wondering sometimes if we'd be together if that wasn't the case. If I wasn't so useful.

Sometimes, my relationship with my girlfriend was more complex than my relationship with the local crime lord and mafia don. My life was weird.

It got worse when Susan added a little cinnamon to the top of her drink and asked, "So, did you and that asshole Marcone have your talk yet?"

She was completely casual as she asked, but nervousness roiled in my gut. What was I supposed to say? Yes, John and I talked and swore allegiance to each to each other, I hope that's okay? "Yeah, we... talked."

Her dark eyebrows arched. "Talked? Just talked, right? He didn't..." She made a vague gesture, indicating something. "You know."

"Uh. No?"

"Good," she said, nodding. "I don't like playing the jealous girlfriend."

I drank my coffee and said nothing. I was missing a big piece of this equation, and it was probably related to that thing I wasn't allowed to think about in regards to John.

Sometimes my mind strayed when I was with him, just a little bit. It was simple curiosity, I assumed, the kind people got out of their systems by joining frat houses and sports teams. The kind I didn't need to indulge in because I had an incredible girlfriend. But sometimes it was... fun. To just banter back and forth with John. It was a small comfort now that I had this giant secret I had to keep from Susan. And John, ever competitive, seemed to enjoy our... whatever it was. Not flirting, because I, Harry Dresden, do not flirt with men. It was more like pulling his pig-tails. I mean, someone had to. I was practically fulfilling a civic duty.

It didn't matter. It didn't count. It was just something that took away the sting of fear I got when I remembered what I was doing. I'd attached myself to John, and we were opening fire on Bianca, which meant I was going to be right in the middle of a supernatural conflict I'd helped create. And I couldn't even tell Susan for fear that she'd be in more danger.

You take your comforts where you can. It wasn't kind to Susan but I refused to risk her safety again.



I was doomed to never have a good birthday apparently. It was like I'd been cursed.

I got two presents this year. The first was a large box sitting on my desk when I got into my office. It was completely unmarked and gave no sign of the contents, but there was a note on tops that said, Next year, a car.

"Not on your life, John," I muttered, grabbing my letter opener and slicing through the tape.

He got me a box of notebooks. Customized Moleskine notebooks, half with the Chicago skyline etched into the front, half with a stylized pentacle. They were all different sizes and colors and each had a band of elastic to keep them shut. A small leather tag on the band had H.B.C.D. in fancy calligraphic lettering. I looked inside one book and found crisp, blank, lined sheets and a map of Chicago in the back pages.

The entire box had to be worth over two hundred dollars. I was never giving him permission to buy anything for me ever again. I almost called him to tell him so, but that would've been letting him get a reaction out of me too easily. It was bad to encourage him. I resolved to yell at him later.

Which was good, because I'd have to check in with John after my next 'present,' which walked into my office right after sundown wearing an extremely low cut red dress and an expression that was as sour as milk two weeks past its expiration date.

"Mr. Dresden," Bianca purred, shutting the door behind her. "I thought we could talk."

I responded by pointing my blasting rod in her face. "I disagree. Get out." My voice was cool and angry. I was glad that the fear that suddenly shot through me didn't show. Stars, I was scared though. A Margravine of the Red Court who gleefully bent Hospitality Laws to the breaking point and had a special vendetta against me-- I'd take a harmless, depressing Boystown exorcism case over this any day of the week.

I hated Halloween.

She held her slim, pale hands up placatingly. "I simply wish to talk, Mr. Dresden." She looked at the glowing tip of my blasting rod, then back at my face. "Though your reaction is enlightening, I must say."

"Office hours are over," I grit out.

"I'll keep this short then." She crossed her arms under her breasts, which did interesting things to her neckline. Or it would have if I hadn't already seen the monster under her fake skin. Knowing what was hidden beneath that mask was a big turn-off. "I know what John Marcone is doing. We've coexisted peacefully in this city since he took power and I am sad to see his greed is leading us down this path. I was happy to let him maintain his business with the more pedestrian trade. He should have been content with that."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "What makes you think I can deliver a message to John Marcone?"

She laughed in my face. "Wizard, do you think your dalliances with him are unknown to us?" Bianca gave me a long look up and down, eyes gleaming with lascivious hunger.

"Yeah, okay," I said, aiming for sarcasm. I didn't want to confirm whatever rumors were swirling in the occult side of Chicago. "If that's all, you can leave now before I torch you."

"Tell John Marcone this is his only warning, and he should be glad I am willing to forgive this trespass." She turned and sashayed to the door. "Any more attempts against my House will be met with overwhelming force." Bianca flicked her gaze back over her shoulder at me. "And I will only be sated when I have him on his knees before my throne, blood offered up to my children and me."

Hell's bells. "You should know better than to mix business and pleasure, Bianca. Only leads to trouble."

"Trouble for you, perhaps." She opened the door, but leaned back inside to leer at me again. "You'd make a delightful appetizer, wizard." Her pink tongue traced her lipstick red lips before she smirked at me and left.

I kept my blasting rod lifted and ready as I listened to her walk down the hall and get into the elevator. Only after the sound of the elevator's descent faded away did I sit heavily down in my chair and grab my phone, my rod still clutched in one hand, just in case.

"Hi, John," I said in a faux-cheerful voice as he picked up. "You'll never guess who was in my office just now."



By the time I got to the mansion, John was out of his suit and wearing yoga pants, a grey tee, and a gold crucifix around his neck. He stood barefoot in the foyer as I was escorted in, rubbing a towel through damp hair.

"Crosses only work if there's belief behind them to support the symbolism," I said.

"I'm an Italian-American living in Chicago, Harry. I know the act of contrition in both English and Latin," he replied. Then the conversation took a swerve when he said, "Let me see your neck."

"My what?"

"Neck. Unbutton your shirt and show me your neck or I'll have Mr. Hendricks do it for you."

It took me a second to figure it out, but once I did, I kind of felt relieved that he took my report so seriously. It was still a novel surprise when people listened to what I told them. I slowly undid the top three buttons of my shirt and pulled my collar away from my neck to display my unbitten skin. "Happy now?"

John let out a breath, deflating a little into someone less stand-offish and more familiar to me. "My apologies. I wanted to be sure. Have you eaten?"

I shook my head and let him settle me into the dining room. He padded into the kitchen, and I could watch him through the doorway as he worked. "Shouldn't we talk about the Bianca thing?"

"You should eat something," he called back. I watched him cut two slices out of a loaf of bread and pull five different types of meat and cheese out of the fridge. He assembled a sandwich, tossed it into a toaster oven, then added cucumber and tomato. He cut it neatly in two before carrying it out to me and taking a seat by me. Such a mother hen. "Button up, you look like an exotic dancer."

I felt myself go a little red, but did so. "You ready to talk now? Or maybe you want to fuss some more first?" I took a bite out of my sandwich and ohmygod. An embarrassing sound ground out of my throat as I tasted it, tangy and salty with an almost nutty cheese that was melty and awesome. "Stars, why is this so good?"

"Avocado spread," John replied a little smugly.

I was pretty sure I couldn't identify an avocado in a line up, but damn if it didn't turn the sandwich into ambrosia of the gods. "I see what you're doing," I said between bites. "You're conditioning me to like you. You're always giving me amazing food. It's positive reinforcement." I took another giant bite and licked a smear of green spread off my thumb. "Read abou' it in a magazine."

His lips twitched, the start of a smile. "Yes, Harry. I'm using food to bribe you into liking me. Is it working?"

"If I say yes, can I have more?"

John's smile finally appeared, sudden but bright, like it'd been accidentally spilled across his mouth. "Perhaps we could focus on the topic at hand?"

Right. Red Court Vamp showing up at my office to menace me and John. I worked on the other half of the sandwich slowly, explaining what happened and what Bianca had said. As I did, John's face gradually went grim and somber as I related Bianca's threat. "She went to you. Caught you when you were alone and vulnerable."

I waved a bit of bread crust at him. "Alone, yes. Vulnerable, no. I was inches away from burninating her ass."

"You're missing the point. She went to you, not me. She had no reason to do that but to send a message."

I shrugged. "Maybe she didn't want to make an appointment. I don't blame her; have you met your secretary?"

John glared at me, decidedly not in a ha-ha mood. I held up my hands in surrender and relented, picking at the remains of my meal. John simply sat there, drumming his fingers on the table as he thought.

He only came out of his head when a grandfather clock somewhere rung out. I counted twelve chimes, so it must've been midnight. John nodded at the sound. "It's late." He pushed his chair back and stood. "You'll stay here tonight. That is not negotiable." He didn't hang around, walking to the stairs without further remark.

Not this again. "Hey, hey, you forgetting that you swore to me, John? We're equals in this! You can't boss me around."

"I have my limits. Allowing you to return to your home, alone, without support right after the Margravine threatens to eat you just so you can remind me again of your autonomy is one such limit." He shook his head and suddenly looked tired, which was a new expression I'd not seen on him before. "Go to bed, Harry. We'll come up with a plan tomorrow."

Something about seeing him like that, silently weary, lacking that imperviousness and knowing something about Bianca threatening me had triggered it... I nodded to him. "Okay."

His smile then was the soft, melancholic one I'd seen only once before. The one that made him look so much younger, but made something in me tighten painfully. I examined the new lines of his face, how that smile relaxed his expression in strange ways. I tried to memorize the look, not knowing when I'd see it again. Now that I took care to notice, I could see the faint longing in his eyes. He always got that look when he looked out over Chicago.

Seeing it left me with such a calm, content sensation in my chest, I totally forgot to yell at him about the stupid expensive Moleskines I didn't need.

Chapter Fifteen

Comments

[cimorene]

DW could totally use a kudos button. For now,

♥