luciazephyr | FIC: other things the road to hell is paved with [20/?]

Okay, so I've been indulging heavily in the kink meme. I've now written the previously mentioned hot tub fic, chatroom fic, and now a ficlet in which Harry accidentally becomes king of the Wyldfae. Am wondering if some of these ideas may be recycled into the epicfic... Unsure.

But I have fic! And I have to tell you guys, this was a hard chapter. The Wonder Beta and

lightgetsin for talking me off the metaphorical ledge about the fic this week. ~~Twice.~~ MANY MANY MANY TIMES.

The universe seemed to notice I had my hands full with the White Council and decided to lay off for a while. The fact that the Red Court stopped pushing into our territory probably had more to do with Bianca waiting for the Council to slap some thorn manacles on me and hand me over to her. I was grateful anyway and wasn't about to look a gift lull in hostilities in the mouth. Or something.

It calmed down in time for the holidays. Just the fact we were still alive, not turned or drained of blood, was enough to inspire a certain festive spirit in my usually Grinchy heart. Unfortunately, John sequestered himself in his home office most evenings, pouring over the Accords, making phone calls, and planning some kind of miracle to get me out of my mess. He didn't appreciate my good cheer, often shooing me out of the office.

Dinners alone were frankly kind of depressing after getting used to sharing a meal with someone, so I spent a lot of time out of the mansion. I patrolled Chicago with my ragtag team of goons, who continued to follow the Blue Beetle even though the Chicago battlefield was quiet. I DMed my first game with the Alphas, worked on some Christmas gifts, and babysat the Carpenter kids again. We built snowmen, using the grossest vegetables in the house to decorate. One tall snowman had a green afro of broccoli that both looked good and meant the kids wouldn't have to be scolded on eating their greens that evening.

I also taught Molly a good lesson on why a girl her age shouldn't be going around in that skimpy of an outfit. A snowball right in the chest made her stop and actually put on a coat. She responded by 'accidentally' spilling my hot chocolate all over my shirt though, but I still considered it worth it. Charity would have a fit if she saw the edgy henna tattoo Molly had gotten.

"Where did you even get that?" I asked her once I got the younger kids to bed.

"Boyfriend did it. You like it?" She pulled the neck of her shirt down to show me some of the design.

"Boyfriend? You don't have a boyfriend. You're ten."

Molly groaned. "I'm fourteen!"

"You don't have a boyfriend," I reiterated. "You're fourteen."

She crossed her arms and pouted at me. "Lemme guess, I can't hang out with guys until I'm... what? Sixteen? Eighteen?"

I shook my head gravely. "Never. Avoid men. They're evil and universally scoundrels."

She smiled sunnily at that. "So I should go lesbian."

"Ye-- No! Oh god, no! No dating!" I pointed in a random direction. "Get thee to a nunnery!"

"Nuns can be sexy," she said, rubbing her chin as she considered it.

"Hell's bells, nevermind." I just couldn't win with Molly. It was like her favorite game was driving the adults in her life up the wall. "Cover that up, Charity will kill you if she sees it."

She beamed at me. "You're not going to rat me out?"

Damn my secret desire to be Cool Uncle Harry. I poured us both more hot chocolate and gave hers a few extra marshmallows. "No. But if I catch you with another one, I totally will."

Molly let out a happy noise and hugged me hard enough it knocked the breath out of me. "Thank you, Harry," she gushed while I gasped for air and patted her on the shoulder. I know, I was a terrible influence and a worse authority figure. I just hoped that fact would balance out with the force of nature that was Charity.

"Dad says you should come over for Christmas," she said into my shoulder, muffled. "And no skipping Mass this time."

"My apartment burned down! The Almighty should respect I had bigger fish to fry."

Molly snickered and pulled away. "Hey, I like your gloves," she said, having snatched the things out of my pocket while hugging me. Tricksy little hobbit.

"Thou shalt not steal, brat." I made a dive for them. I liked those gloves. They had the perfect balance of warmth and pliability. And they didn't soak through when I made snowballs. Such a thing was rare.

Molly stuffed them in her shirt, which meant there was no way I was getting them back unless she gave them up. "Say you're coming to Christmas."

"Fine, fine! Gimme." I clicked my fingers at her until she retrieved the gloves from wherever it was women put things when they stored them in their... chests. Strange creatures, females.

So on Christmas morning, I got picked up in the family car, squeezed in next to Hope with Baby Harry on my lap (who kept telling me he was "Hawwy," with all the pride of a child who'd just learned to say their name), and was carted off to St. Mary's.

Father Forthill did the service. It was... nice? I was glad to be with the family, but churches made me twitchy. There was singing too, which always struck me as a little odd since the average person didn't have the sort of voice made for singing, but when you were serenading God, I guess it was the thought that counted. I didn't sing, but I stood and sat when Michael nudged me to do so. It must've been tough to be Catholic if you had dodgy knees.

"Well, that was awkward," I muttered when we left. "Why did I come along?"

Michael clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Because Charity's making her butterflied turkey again."

Oh, right. Yum.

As Michael and Charity made dinner, Daniel and I got busy handing out spiced apple cider as everyone showed off their presents.

There was a wadded ball of wrapping paper in the living room, leftovers from the morning. I quietly grabbed a few pieces and started flattening them out, tearing them into squares and folding. I whispered nonsense Latin under my breath as I did, thinking about movement and flight as I let my will flow out through my fingers with every crease I made in the paper.

So I was a bit of an arts and crafts guy. I'm tactile, I like working with my hands. I especially liked the awed reaction the origami animals got when I set them on the coffee table and they moved on their own. The horses walked in slow circles, the cranes hovered a few inches off the table, frogs hopped at their own volition, and the lion flicked its tail as it curled up to sleep. It was subtler work than I was usually capable of, but the soft glow of familial happiness in my chest made it possible. The charm wouldn't last more than an hour, but, again, it was the thought that counted.

I went home full of turkey with a ziploc full of extra meat for future sandwiches. I stashed it in the fridge in the kitchen and grabbed myself a beer as I wound down from my surprisingly satisfying holiday.

My bed was calling me, but as I headed down the hallway, I noticed a light shining under the door to John's office. He'd been in there when I'd left in the morning.

I let myself in, opening the door quietly and peeking inside. "John?"

John was still sitting at his desk, writing notes on one of his legal pads. When he'd started in on the Accords, his desk had been as meticulously neat as ever. As days slipped by, it'd turned into a bit of a mess, stacked papers and file folders and printed notes from his lawyers splayed everywhere, yellow sticky notes all over the place. John himself looked somewhat tired, his hair showing signs of having been fingercombed too many times, his face long and drawn, dark smudges under his eyes.

He didn't look up when I called his name. He hadn't heard me. Stars and stones. "John," I called again.

He blinked and looked up at me. "Yes?"

"Have you been working all day?"

"No. I stopped and had dinner a few hours ago." He returned to his notes. "Is there something you need? I only have a few days to fine tune this."

"No, sorry." I felt bad for interrupting. At the same time, I felt bad for not interrupting him hours ago. "I'll just..." Go. I should go. Before my mouth got me in trouble by saying something like... "You don't have anyone to spend Christmas with, do you?"

John's pen stopped moving for about a half second before he resumed writing.

I licked my lips, dry and chapped from the winter cold. "Your family?"

"Needless to say, they are not a part of my life anymore." His tone gave nothing away, more opaque than I had ever heard him.

I apparently lacked the sense to shut up while I could. "Is there anyone you trust?"

John's pale green gaze flicked to me, then to the page again. "You know the answer to that, Harry."

Right. Trust wasn't a part of his life either. Trust was for people who didn't rely on paranoia and ruthlessness to survive. Trust was incompatible with the way his mind worked, with what he did.

He gave no sign of being bothered by that. But I was.

It got worse when I got back to my room. On my bed was a black fold of leather with a wide cloth bow wrapped around it. The bow came loose easily, and unfolding the leather revealed a coat. A duster, long and sleek, dark as oil. I carefully slipped out of John's suede jacket and tried on the duster. It was warm and heavy, the hem swinging a good few inches below my knees.

Bob looked at me as tugged at the duster, belting it, checking the many pockets, finding the chord looped in the folds waiting for my blasting rod. "He's got your number, boss."

"Yeah," I said softly. "I know."

I didn't think of getting him anything. I mean, really, what do you get for a man like John Marcone? A man who had enough money to wage war on vampires and buy himself a live-in wizard, what could I give him?

It was stupid and impulsive, but I had to do something. There was a pressure in my chest, like a balloon in my ribcage that slowly expanded until it hurt. I dug out a blank sheet of paper and a black sharpie, drew wide zig-zagging lines over the paper, then started. I pushed magic into the papercraft, poured it into every fold until the origami began to radiate a faint light. Next to me, Bob offered a few suggestions on my spell work.

I felt a little drained by the time I was done, but it was probably the best parlor trick I'd ever pulled off in my long history of playing with magic. I urged my creation into my palm and cupped my other hand over it, petting its back to urge it to be calm. The amount of life I'd given this one was in a whole different ballpark than I had with the Carpenters'.

I walked into John's office and set the it down on one of the few open spaces on the desk. He, so absorbed in his work, didn't notice until the little origami paper tiger let out a quiet roar.

John's head snapped up, eyes wide and alert in an instant. He took in the enchanted bit of origami that was prowling around his paperwork with soundless awe. It was an angular but recognizable white tiger, moving around with a territorial grace.

It was off the cuff and not much compared to the duster than was wrapped snugly around me, but it was something.

John eventually tore his eyes from the tiger to look up at my face. "Why a tiger?"

I forgot he wouldn't know why. It was so obvious to me. "When we soulgazed, I saw you had a tiger's soul. It seemed fitting," I confessed, swallowing thickly. "Merry Christmas."

"Thank you." He stared at me with eyes like jade, dark with some intense emotion I wouldn't put a name to.

Empty night. My blood started pounding in my ears. I wanted to circle the desk and step into his space. I wanted to take his face in my hands, run my thumbs against the circles under his eyes, brush his mussed hair back into place. I wanted to lean in close, breathe against his lips and spur him into getting up, shoving me back against the desk with one of my hands in his hair as he bit my neck. Or maybe climb onto that roomy chair with him, pin his hands to the armrests, and drive all that stress out of his mind. I didn't exactly know how I'd do that, but I was a fast learner. He could help. Anything for that soft, warm, tired look in his eyes.

I didn't do any of that though. Instead I looked away, nodding. "Welcome. Goodnight."

I turned and left as fast as I could without running. The tight, hot feeling in my chest didn't stop, instead grew upon seeing the open, naked expression on his face. I needed to get away from him before I gave into some very unwise urges. It just wasn't the time. Not yet. Not now.

But it had stopped being an if and started being a when.

Ebenezar agreed to meet with us before the Council meeting, and McAnally's was as good a place as any. I convinced John to give Cujo the day off, accepting the job of protecting him myself. Bringing Hendricks to the Council would only lead to bad things.

It was still early when we sat at Mac's, John having coffee while I had soda. I was jittery, my knee bobbing up and down rapidly as I watched the door, waiting for Eb. Something about my mentor meeting John made me nervous. I'd given Eb the lowdown over the phone about what had gone on in the last year and a half; John forcibly recruiting me, convincing me to sign on with him, the fight we hadn't started with the Reds but had probably escalated it. Eb hadn't passed any judgment. I had no idea what he thought of my situation.

"You sure you don't want to stay home?" I asked John suddenly. "Smaller chance of decapitation."

John subtly reached under the table and one a single finger on my leg. I stopped fidgeting. "I'm aware of the risks. Your White Council doesn't scare me, and you'll need me there."

Before I could argue further, the door to the pub opened and Ebenezar McCoy meandered lazily down the steps. He looked like he always had, shorter than me and looking good for his plus-three hundred years. He looked clean and honest in a long sleeved white shirt and dark overalls that had likely been black once but had been worn, washed, and sun-faded until they were a navy blue. He had his robe folded and slung over one shoulder and a long chunk of oak in one hand. His eyes lit up from behind his gold-rimmed glasses as he spotted me, and that pale twinkle in his eyes instantly calmed me. Such was Ebenezar, the man who had taught me when I'd been a young angry warlock.

"Hoss," he called and tossed the oak at me. "Didn't I teach you to respect your tools?"

I caught it with one hand. The wood was familiar, thrumming against my skin with a resonance I knew well. I'd have another functional staff in no time. "This time the fire was not my fault." I got up and went over to shake his hand. "Good to see you, sir. Thanks for coming. I know you don't like Council meetings."

"You don't show up to these things, you're first on the list when they need a poor sap to shove an apprentice at. And I like my new barn, thanks."

"That was an accident," I said, laughing.

"S'what you always say, boy." He nodded to my would-be-staff. "You take care of that one. I don't have much more. You need to get your own."

"Yeah, I'll just pick up a lightning-struck oak down at the five-and-dime." I heard the scrape of a chair behind me and remembered. "Oh, right." I half-turned away so I didn't stand between my mentor and my partner in not-crime. "Sir, this is John Marcone. John, this is Ebenezar McCoy."

Eb and John sized each other up, and Eb did not offer his hand. That didn't stop John's need to be courteous; he bowed respectfully. "It's an honor to meet any person Harry holds in high enough regard to address as 'sir.'"

Eb gave him a chilly look. "So you're the man who snared my apprentice into a contract."

Yikes. I've never known Ebenezar to be overly protective, but the amount of trouble I could find in Hog's Hollow was negligible next to what I got up to in Chicago. I'd... not forgotten about what John did to get me to sign on with him, but I'd gotten past it. But Eb had just heard the tale from me a few weeks ago. And clearly wasn't happy about it.

John didn't let that put him off though. "Harry and I might've gotten off on the wrong foot, and I won't deny some blame for that is mine, but that was in the past."

"Uh huh," Eb drawled. "I'm sure you're all flavors of regretful."

"Not at all. I did what was necessary to secure his loyalty." John's hand came to rest on the small of my back in such a proprietary gesture, I nearly stepped away. My mentor was right there and John was sacrificing all semblance of subtlety for his cause.

Eb scratched at his white beard, contemplative. "Way I see it, the best way to resolve this spat with the Council is to tell them you bound Harry against his will and you should be the one taken care of, Marcone."

No reaction showed on John's face, but I felt his hand against my back twitch. The two of them stared each other down, the energy between them practically crackling with their opposing wills. This wasn't going well. "Hey, Eb, it's not like that--"

"Harry," John said warningly, tilting his head to look at me. Really look at me, his eyes locking solidly with mine. He held my gaze for a long moment, then looked away again.

Eb frowned at Marcone, looking pissed about something. They were at loggerheads with each other, and this must've been what it felt like to be Baby when she was in the corner. It was strange to be fought about and simultaneously sidelined from the fight. Strange and deeply irritating.

I shoved John's hand away from where it'd gotten comfy against my spine. "Okay, you guys can duke this out. I'm going to see if Mac serves beer before noon."

I hoped Eb would try to stop me, but he was just as bad as John, apparently, and all the more willing to bicker about me without my inclusion. Stars and stones. If they had met on better terms, I bet they would've been best pals. They had so much in common.

Mac grunted at me when I got to the bar and nodded to the Accorded Neutral Grounds sign on his wall.

"Tell them to take it outside if you want," I told him. "I don't care. You'd think the looming threat of my excommunication would be more urgent to them." Not that I was bitter. Wasn't it supposed to be flattering to be fought over? Perhaps that was just my chivalry talking. At the moment, it wasn't so much flattering as stressful.

Mac grunted more sympathetically. He had a dictionary of guttural, non-verbal sounds. Any regular at his pub knew his language. He took the cap off one of his brews and set it in front of me.

I lifted the bottle to him. "Bless you and all your endeavors." I took a long drink before going back over to John and Eb.

"I got a better idea," Eb was saying. "How about I introduce you to my shotgun? See you talk your way around a double-barrel."

"Wow, good to see you kids are getting along," I said sardonically.

Eb sighed. "Hoss, what did you expect, for me to invite him over for dinner? I know you court trouble like you're lovesick for it, but I'm not going to take to anyone who thinks he can force a wizard's hand."

"Well, lucky for you then, since that's not what's going on here," I shot back. "John gave me a no strings attached out back in October. I didn't want it. We're in this together. It's stupid and suicidal and he got my apartment burned to the ground--"

John twitched, like he wanted to move but aborted the gesture. His ability to do that, just shut his reactions down, was freaky. "That was not my fault."

"-- but we're doing this and I trust him, sir. He's a criminal scumbag, but oddly enough he's not a black hat."

Eb looked between us for a long moment. It was nerve-wracking. As far as family went for me, I had a lot of adopted family and Eb, who may not have been a father figure exactly, but he wasn't simply my mentor. He'd taken me in when the alternative was death and taught me what was important in life. I loved Michael and his kids and the Alphas, but this was Eb and I felt uncannily like I was presenting John to him for approval. And I wanted him to approve, because I was beginning to think John and me versus the world was going to be a long haul.

"You are not convinced," John observed quietly. "If I may make one final argument?"

Eb snorted. "This ain't a court hearing, boy."

"Nevertheless." John folded his hands primly behind his back and stepped forward, so very formal. "If you want your apprentice to live, you need to help both of us survive this Council meeting. Obviously we need the Council to not disbar him, or they will hand him over to the Margravine to balm her anger. But if I do not make it through the meeting, then Harry's life is in nearly as much danger. The Red Court has a personal vendetta against him. My security forces and protection keep him safe. I cannot guard him if I'm disposed of."

Eb narrowed his eyes at John. "That a threat?"

"No," he replied, tipping his head back and meeting Eb's gaze. "It's a statement of fact."

The tension between them grew to a fever pitch, and I watched them stare each other down. One second slipped by, then another, then Eb slid his gaze away from John and to me. "You sure can pick 'em, boy."

John chuckled, bowing his head respectfully. "Apologies. That trick worked once before."

"I can see that," Eb muttered, looking at me like I'd done some fool thing.

Hell's bells, I realized. John just tried to soulgaze Ebenezar McCoy.

John Marcone had brass ones to rival wrecking balls.

"You speak Latin, Marcone?" Eb asked suddenly.

John blinked. "I'm familiar with the liturgy, but I don't know how helpful that would be. I speak Italian though, some of the vocabulary should be similar."

"What about you, Hoss? How's your Latin?"

I winced, then tried the dead language out on my tongue. "Ego non adsuesco assuesco en diu tamen bonus satis ego spero."

Eb slapped a hand over his eyes. "Hell's bells, kid." At the same time, John groaned quietly, shaking his head. Eb went on in a strained tone, "Right. What's say we sit down and suss out how we're going to do this?"

"Agreed," John said gravely.

Uniting people in exasperation against me. Maybe I'd stumbled on the secret to world peace.

An hour before the Council meeting, we wrapped up and Ebenezar left. It was a smart move, as the three of us showing up together would've made him look bad in front of the Senior Council. Eb had promised to see what he could do about talking to the more sympathetic members there to garner us some sympathy points.

It wouldn't save us though. Eb warned us about the Merlin,

"He'll have three volleys against you. I'll help where I can, but you two idiots are going to have to be prepared."

Good to know, though there was little I could do about it. This wasn't my show. After Eb left, when I was alone with John, I gave him a long look over the table. "So... what's the actual plan?"

John smiled over the rim of his coffee. "It's best you don't know. You'll try to help and you are a terrible liar."

I eyed him. "You're going to lie?" John nodded. "You never lie."

"I never lie to you. Please, Harry. I have been in front of a judge and under oath before."

I was torn between the fuzzy feeling of being special and the reminder that John was a decent man whose business was crime, and one day it might catch up with him. I wasn't ready to worry about that, not with everything else on the agenda today, so I smiled coyly at him instead. "You big softie."

John smirked, finished his coffee, and stood. "Come on. We have enemies to make."

I got up to follow, but paused to take something out of my pack. I didn't know why, but I was big on the gestures lately. Maybe because that was usually John's game; he never said anything, but he did everything, took care of things I didn't realize I needed. Hell, he ran himself ragged over the Accords, exhausting himself in a way that he never had by running the city.

And I wanted.... I just wanted. Talk about picking the worst time the get with the program, huh?

But I walked up behind John, whispered, "Hold still a sec," and put a robe over his shoulders.

My old robe was gone, so I'd sewn a new one for this Council meeting. It was ink black and matte, perfect for fading into the shadows. A tall guy like me was rarely unobtrusive, but my robe would help me lay low in a dimly-lit arena of wizards.

John's robe, on the other hand, was similar in all ways except for the fact it was a few inches shorter and it was a midnight blue.

I smoothed it out over his arms, tugging it to lie straight down his body. John watched me, his eyes ever so slightly wider than usual. "Harry."

"Need a robe," I explained quietly. "Wizards wear black. Wardens wear grey. Apprentices wear brown."

"And who wears blue?" he asked, his eyes following mine insistently until I gave in and made eye contact.

"Well, you do. If you want. We're already breaking every rule by having you show up. You could just wear your suit if you prefer."

He looked down at himself, considering, and adjusted the cloak until he could latch it at his neck. It hung placidly around him, sheathing him in blue.

It had to be blue. Magic was all about belief, and while there was no reason to this, there was plenty of rhyme. Blue was safety to me, it was protection. It was the color of my raw power, when I shielded, when my will was visible. In my head, I knew there was no practical reason this cloak would protect him. I didn't dare modify it or sew any magic into it like I would my duster. But in my heart, my will, my magic, the weird little things that made me who I was, it helped.

He could die today. All to help me. To make it clear we did this together or not at all.

It was a gesture. It was all I could do at the time.

John stopped messing with the cloak and tucked his hands under its thick, warm cloth. He nodded approvingly. "All right."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." He smiled at me. "Shall we?"

We left the pub and set out to face the White Council.

Chapter Twenty-One soon

Hopefully the next chapter doesn't take a stupid amount of time too. Sorry about that, folks.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

samjohnsson

The cloak as a symbol was a gorgeous touch.

My brain's not processing the Latin...

luciazephyr

That's because the Latin is Babelfish Latin. You're not supposed to understand it. 83

okay, went to poke at it. (yes, it was driving me up the wall.) Is it

"I'm not accustomed to it any more, yet good enough I hope."

?

And while I want to fix it so bad, the fact that Harry kinda screws it up is perfect.

we can raise cities or raze them, it whispers

and the only difference is the spelling

FIC: other things the road to hell is paved with [20/?]

(no subject)

(no subject)

(no subject)

Profile

Links

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags