Mortal

[madimpossibledreamer]

Dresden happens to be right here; Marcone is demisexual but not aromantic.  It’s a coincidence, really, because Harry really doesn’t get anything outside heteronormativity, but he is trying.
What is this chapter
(though the word count is part of why I didn't get the thing I needed to get done yesterday done yesterday or today wow)

Main Points:
Dresden Files AU, M is for Marcone Series, although actually Dresden's POV for once
Chapter Summary: Together, Marcone and Dresden brainstorm for a 'hold-onto-your-humanity' potion while Thomas can't decide if he wants to snicker at them both or treat Marcone as a threat.
Word Count: 3043
Rating: Teen
Dresden/Marcone preslash

 

        Thomas is distractingly fidgety, but then, he wants to be on hand to help in case this goes wrong but doesn’t quite trust himself in the same room as Marcone, from what it looks like.  Probably because he’d been on the verge of trying to kill the man in protective rage earlier.
        “A potion?”
        “You could learn to listen,” Bob tuts at me.  “A potion and a spell.  The potion is just to enhance your handsome mob boss’s hold on his humanity.”  I don’t know how I know Bob is waggling his eyebrows at me, considering he doesn’t have any eyebrows.  “It’s internal.  I suspect he’d have only a few moultings on his own, given his force of will, but it doesn’t hurt to enhance it.  The spell is external.  We’ll cast it from the outside to give Marcone a leg up, so to speak.”
        That’s probably another innuendo.  I don’t give Bob the satisfaction of acknowledging it.
        “So, this potion…I don’t think I’ve brewed it before.”  True, I generally have my mainstays and don’t really deviate from them, but a potion like that could be really useful.  Thomas perks up in the background, and for a good reason.  I can definitely see why it’d catch his interest.  My brother definitely could use the potion, assuming it works as intended.
        “It’s theoretical.”  I make a face, and Bob instantly scolds me.  “Hey, Boss, you know how good I am at this theoretical potions stuff.  There’s a reason you keep me around.”
       
        So that’s how I end up having a metaphysical discussion with a mob boss.  For once, my exercise won’t be gained from running away from things but from trooping up and down my own stairs.  It might be easier to relocate Bob, but I don’t want to give a mob boss that much leverage even if I am kind of trusting him.  “What reminds you of being human?”
        This time, it looks like Marcone wants to cross his arms at me but can’t with a lap full of dog.  Mouse grins, and I have a feeling he’s laughing at the criminal, something most mortals would fear to do.
        “I assume there’s a point to this.”   He sounds slightly impatient, and he’s definitely hissing his s-sounds again.  Which kind of illustrates how important getting this right will be.  Marcone’s better than the Vergassis because he doesn’t get impatient, rely on his temper, and kill off the nearest guy to tick him off, particularly since I make a game of doing just that.  He needs to keep that trait.
        “We’re going to go on a quick Potions 101 lecture.”  Honestly, I half expect the man to get even more impatient, but instead his eyes brighten, sparkling a little in the candlelight, even, and he leans forward. 
        I’d thought that his interest in magic was the power it could bring him.  The Gentleman’s a practical guy—he has to be, to keep ahold of the crime and villainy in a city like Chicago—and he’d wanted me as his own private wizard for ages.  As of today’s revelations, I added the ‘pretty thing in the office to admire’ to the list, but given the attentive, unblinking (okay, that’s pretty creepy, but probably has something to do with the naga thing) way he’s staring at me, relaxed and petting my dog who’s far too smug for anyone else’s good, and with the slight crinkle at the sides of his eyes that says he’s smiling, even though he’s making an effort not to have it show on his lips…well.
        Maybe the magic isn’t just a nice bonus.  Maybe he’s interested in me, not despite or because of my magic, but he recognizes it’s a part of me and finds that appealing, too.  Between that and the fact that, I’ll freely admit, I love a good audience, particularly when I get to talk about one of my favorite things…well, his attention could go to my head pretty easily.
        Which gives me an insight into the way he works, interestingly enough.  Sure, he’s asexual, he’s a practical guy without time for romance, but maybe it was possible that he fell in love with little things like this, rather than a nice body.  So I can almost get it.  I’ve been told I’m old-fashioned, courting and all, so this I get.
        But I need to not get distracted, and Marcone’s waiting.
        “Okay, so potions have a number of components based on the associations of the person taking it.  There’s a base, a liquid that you put all the other ingredients in, something for each of the senses, and then a component for mind and spirit.  Thus me asking what reminds you of being human.” 
        I wait for him to digest the idea.  He does so surprisingly quickly, until his phone chimes and he quickly types something out on the thing.  I’ve learned to quickly identify that, mostly because ‘cell phone capable of texting’ easily means ‘cross the street or risk ruining someone’s day’.  Molly’s mentioned those things are expensive, and for a guy that sometimes has to rely on old-fashioned stove heated ramen for most of the month, the last thing I’d want to do is force an expense like that on a random person.  It’s not like they create cell phone replacement plans for ‘acts of wizard’.  Probably.
        “I need to answer this or Hendricks would probably send out a search party,” he explains calmly as his fingers fly over the buttons.  Apparently the man had gotten out from presenting his thesis.  That might start to get less weird on repetition, but it certainly hasn’t yet.  “I’m probably getting a lecture either way, but it’ll be worse if he thinks me possibly dead or kidnapped.”
        He seems more…human.  More animated.  This honestly bodes well for the potion—something to remind him of his humanity is clearly having an impact, and a positive one at that.
        It’s honestly dangerous on my end, if he keeps doing that, but it’s better for the city in the long run so I shut up and let it happen.  “I am now being treated to a discourse on Peirce’s Sign Theory.”  The fond look he gives the device before he puts it away makes me a little uncomfortable, but then, the whole purpose of this exercise is to anchor him in his humanity.  “He’d probably be better at this whole exercise, but I suppose he’d also give different answers and potions are a very individual matter?” 
        “It’s usually the association to the practitioner making the potion, but Bob thought for this one it’d be better if we went with your answers rather than mine, since it’s supposed to anchor your humanity.”  He’d made it clear that there were rare exceptions when you’re making a potion for someone else, and this is just one of those times where it makes sense.
        “It’s the original form of a character mood board,” he muses, and I raise an eyebrow.
        “What’s a character mood board?” I ask, curious, and feel slightly delighted as he blushes.  No kidding, straight-on blushes.  It’s not that deep, but for a person who doesn’t show any emotions when he can help it, it’s delightful.  Thomas actually snickers and gets a glare for his troubles.  Unfortunately for Marcone, my brother isn’t easily intimidated by such things.
        “Ah, yes.  You wouldn’t know much about them, would you?  They’re usually on the internet.”  It takes him a moment to compose himself and figure out exactly what he wants to say.  “I happen to have quite the collection of organized crime fiction.”
        My first reaction is to laugh, and he pouts and looks away.  He does actually look a little hurt.  Which might get him to tuck his humanity away, hiding from the ridicule, which is the opposite of what we’re trying to do.  “I guess I was right.  You are a workaholic.”
        He manages a slight smile.  “I realize it’s perhaps a little like taking my work home with me, but it is relaxing.”
        “So, maybe a copy of the Godfather or something, for the potion?” I suggest, and he relaxes a little, though he is burying himself further in Mouse’s fur.  He’s also thinking.
        “If there was a way we could distill Chicago and put it in a cup…” he muses, more to himself than to me or Thomas.  “I’m tempted to go for a good coffee or an Italian wine, but I doubt you have either, so I’ll take a beer for a base.”
        “Hey, I’m sophisticated,” I protest, and this time both Thomas and Marcone are laughing at me.  I suppose I deserve this, after hurting the mob boss’s feelings.
        “Harry, of all the ways I would describe you, ‘sophisticated’ is not close to being on that list,” my brother drawls.  He’s decided to sprawl on the couch, which works for him I guess.  Better than looming ominously.
        “I don’t suppose you would have a picture of the Chicago skyline for sight?” he muses, and—well, I do.  I’d bought a sketch, mostly because I hadn’t wanted to get too close to the camera and ruin it for most of the same reasons I avoided people with phones other than Marcone.  I’d spent good money on it, but I suppose this is as good a use as any.
        “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”  I’d known about his obsession with Chicago, that he thought about the city as much as I did, but I’d thought it was a territory thing.  Apparently not.
        “Blood for taste,” he adds next, and I frown.
        “Isn’t that…a bit morbid?” I ask, taken aback.  I might be a bit fixated on food, but usually I’d go for, say, a good Chicago pizza or a steak or something, and he sighs.
        “Memento mori.  ‘Remember that you, too, are mortal.’  Blood is fairly symbolic for life and death.”  He shrugs as well as he can with a lap full of giant dog.  “I’ll hardly go gentle into that good night, but I came to terms with the dangers of my profession years ago.  This change might give me a better chance, in that regard, but if we’re talking humanity, I would have to say blood.”
        “Whose blood are you thinking of using?” Thomas queries lazily.
        The curl of Marcone’s lips is predatory, but in a purely human fashion.  “I’m no stranger to the taste of my own blood.”
        My knee-jerk reaction is to be unhappy—very unhappy—with the thought of our currently resident Gentleman of Chicago being hurt.  This is the kind of reaction that leads to me burning things down.  Thoroughly.  It probably means I’m screwed, because I’ve somehow gotten to the point I’m thinking of Marcone as one of the people I need to protect, but I shove that into a box to think about later.  Future me will hate me for the massive breakdown I’ll have later, but this isn’t the time for any of this.
        “I’ve had to use my own blood for a spell before.  I won’t hurt you.”  My voice is definitely gentler than I’d like.  At Thomas’s sudden stillness and raised eyebrow, I amend that with a, “…Not any more than I’d need to for that, anyway.”
        Marcone takes in a deep breath and carefully lets out his tension with said breath.  It’s practiced, and explains quite a lot.  I’d been in awe of his self control, though I wouldn’t have admitted that out loud, and had made a game of trying to break it, which is something I definitely have admitted more than once, proudly.  But it’s clearly practiced, which fits him so well.  Everything is willpower with this guy.  “…I trust you,” he admits softly.
        And isn’t that just something I don’t know what to do with, either.  I’d blame the attraction on whatever little naga tricks he’d used back at the hotel, but can’t decide if I really want to imply my own hastily well-drawn circle is defective. Rather than make a decision on that front, I hurry him on.  “What else?”
        He raises a knowing eyebrow but indulges me.  Now that I know yet another of his dirty little secrets, I get the feeling he does that a lot, lets me get away with so much more than anyone else.
        Although maybe that’s why he trusts me.  He might not have set out to share all of this with me, but I haven’t betrayed his trust, and I’m probably one of few in his life who could say the same.  It might be a little bit sad.  He’s not the type to let even a crush sway him on matters of survival.  He can’t.
        And from the way he shivers and his eyes unfocus for a second, even if it’s not going to lead immediately into another moulting, it’s probably best to get the answers as soon as possible anyway.
        “As much as I like this suit, it’s fairly well ruined anyway.”  A hint of his rougher Chicago accent has come creeping back, whether or not he wills it.  “Wearing them is almost a constant, and it’s not like I don’t have others.  We can cut a bit off one of the sleeves for touch.”  He frowns suddenly, petting Mouse a little more insistently.  “As long as you cut it up small enough, or the potion does something…”  He waggles his fingers, and it makes me smile.
        “Yeah, potions are magic, so it’s not like you’re eating the actual ingredients.”  The relief is obvious in his body language, even if he doesn’t bother to voice it.
        It’s clear he’s having trouble coming up with something for the next few ingredients, and I almost start listing suggestions, before he speaks up suddenly.  “I don’t suppose you’d have the sound of a baseball game, somehow?”
        I did, actually.  I’d placed it in a bottle like some of the other ingredients I had laying around for the right time, and now seemed to be the right time.  He starts explaining before I can even reply, though.
        “I’m trying to think of ingredients you might have on hand, as well.  I’m not sure that we have a lot of time to be scrounging around, or I’d ask Hendricks to bring a copy of one of the soundtracks, and I do enjoy a good game.”
        So he’d come to the same conclusion I had.  Not the most reassuring, but then, the situation wasn’t great.  It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great, either.
        “Yeah, I managed to get the crack of a baseball bat and the cheers of the crowd.  I was trying for a little more, but it’s not a precise science,” I grumble.  Apparently, tape recorders are less hassle, but I’d have to go to a lot of effort to get one to work for me, since the ones that didn’t involve lugging around giant pieces of equipment were invented after my own personal cutoff date.
        “I’m sure it’s good enough, Mr. Dresden.”  Marcone cuts off my own internal monologue with a smile, looking a little dizzy, and I must really be looking annoyed if he’s reassuring me.
        “I see a chess piece over there.  Would that work for mind?”  Huh.  I hadn’t really been interested in chess, but it’d been a gift, so I wasn’t about to refuse it.  Mister promptly declared his own personal everlasting victory by stealing most of the pieces and rendering anyone else incapable of challenging his rule.  I’d forgotten about it, and retrieve it, grimacing a little as I try to use my shirt to clean the dust and cat hair off the thing.
        “Don’t tell me you’re the cliché that thinks of all of this as a game of chess,” I remark, and Thomas snickers and gets up from the couch.  Soon enough, I hear popcorn popping on the stove, and of course.  He’s relaxed his threat assessment to take his duties as embarrassing older brother seriously.
        “Of course not.  I like my work far better than chess, if I’m being honest, but just like chess there are parts I dislike.”  He smiles, more than a little smug, at the point we both realize that it’s the king piece.  That might be a little more relevant than we’d thought.
        “If you’ve got paper, I could write a contract binding my future self to certain terms—though I would consider it a personal favor if you were to not read it.  That could suffice for the spirit of things.”  On one hand, it sounds absolutely ridiculous, but on the other hand, it could work, maybe even on its own.  Oaths have an ancient power to them.
        “If you put your will behind it, that should work,” I agree.  “Can’t think of a smell?”
        He ducks his head.  “If I’d had some of my own cologne with me, I’d use that, but…” He fiddles with his cufflinks.  “Would it be a terrible imposition to ask for some of your own instead?”
        Thomas obnoxiously chews a handful of popcorn in the background, making both of us jump.  I hadn’t even noticed him getting done, or sitting back down.
        “Mine?  Really?” I clarify, because I’m occasionally a little slow.
        That doesn’t seem to matter to Marcone, though, because he still looks fond.  “You smell good,” he states like a fact, and I can’t even argue the point, not with him looking so earnest.
        “Cologne it is.”  He cheers up considerably, and behind him Thomas is rolling his eyes hard enough he might pull a muscle.  Part of it might be that I’m uncharacteristically not behaving like an ass about his interest, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to push things, and sometimes it just feels nice to be wanted.  I’m not going to get into that with my brother, though, so I thank Marcone, politely, just to see the slight surprise in his widened eyes, and head back downstairs to start brewing and casting spells.  I realize only later that Thomas didn’t follow me, which concerns me briefly until I realize I really should trust that he tends to think things through, unlike me, so he’s probably not going to attack my own guest on his own.