Maggie has never met her father. She didn't even know she had one. But now Harry Dresden is dead, Maggie is finally safe, and she meets her father's friends. One of them will end up her guardian.
She learns about how he lived, what he was like as a person, through her new guardian, and through the new people she meets, all of whom knew her father the way she never got to.
You know what, even before I found kinkmeme- before kinkmeme existed, I think, I plotted out a story where Maggie tries to find her dad, and only finds pieces of memory littered around people who won't tell her everything. And Harry himself has distanced himself from everyone, as the Winter Knight, and when she finally finds him, she's completely disillusioned because, hell, a few years under that job- something's bound to snap.
I failed at it and deleted the file in a fit of frustration, but if someone else wrote this and struck the right balance of bittersweet that I never managed... whoa.
That would be heartbreaking. I've always wondered how Maggie would turn out later on, because Jim can't just write her off completely. Families in the Dresden Files are mostly messed up, aside from the Carpenters, and seeing Harry's situation in canon is depressing.
That bit about people not wanting to tell her everything, that really struck me. She's going to know Harry in pieces, pieces of him left behind after the job as Winter Knight makes him snap.
/searches the Nevernever for the file you deleted/
This is seriously awful, I am sorry. Try not to read it. You have better things to do. This just fails on so many levels. The reason I'm posting is that breaking a promise would be even worse.
"So tell me," the girl says, tilting her head up at them. "Tell me everything. You have to."
Michael Carpenter pours her a glass of juice. Over a decade has passed since... since. But he can still remember Harry's face, its sharp angles and pallor and the dark bold eyes. The girl resembles him so much it's painful.
Oh, not the precise features. But the expression. The obstinacy. The same anger, although Harry carried a great more with him, and it always showed.
"He was a good man," he answers honestly. Maggie's- she told him that she was Margaret Dresden when she met him at the door, but Michael could help but think of her as Maggie- eyes narrow, and her impatience with him is palpable. The same temper. Michael hides his smile. "I'm sorry- what do you mean by 'everything'? If you ask me, I'll try to answer."
"Will you?" she says. Or seethes. She's intense.
"I'll try to try?" he offers, and has the pleasure of seeing her smile. Just a little, but it's good to see. "Things were... complicated. Please. Ask. I'll try to help you out."
"Is he still alive?"
Such a simple question. Michael answers honestly, as usual. "I do not know." For sure. Almost certainly the Winter Knight was still on the move- he would have heard otherwise- but, ah, there was always a margin of doubt, yes? And it would be... dangerous. If she tried to find out more. "He disappeared."
"What happened to me?"
"I wasn't there."
"So something did happen."
Michael sighs. Some things had to give. "Yes, it did. I don't know the specifics. He saved your life."
"Who's my mom?" she asks, and when he hesitates she snaps, "You said you'd try!"
"I'm trying!" Michael raises his hands, and smiles at him apologetically. No, there would be no danger in telling her about a woman named Susan Rodriguez. She almost certainly had no living relatives. Her liaison with Harry Dresden had been a relatively short one. But about Harry himself, he would- no, he could- say nothing. He should not. The last thing he wanted to happen to Harry was seeing what he'd lost.
Or the other way around, he reminded himself. The last thing he wanted for Maggie was to let her see what her father had become.
--
Billy Borden does not offer her juice.
"Fuuuuck," he says when she introduced herself. "Fucking hell."
He is not tall, but Margaret is not tall for her age, either, and she has to tilt her head nonetheless. "Well, you didn't get his height, did you?" he finally says, holding open the door. She slips in.
He gives her a beer, and calls down a tall woman. They both blink at her for a minute before sitting down. Margaret starts to talk, but he holds a hand up, and gulps down two cans before finally staring at her in the eye.
"Do I look like him?" Margaret asks.
"Hell no," he says instantly, at the same time his wife vehemently says "Oh yes." They look at each other.
"I mean, her eyes." Georgia says.
"She looks like Susan."
"No, I mean, unfocus your eyes a bit," Georgia says. "Hey kid, stick out your chin a bit and try to look obstinately heroic."
Margaret hides a smile. Billy breaks out into laughter- genuine, if a bit hysterical. "Jesus," he says. "I can't believe I'm meeting you."
She tries her beer. Her dad never lets her have any. It's not bitter, but it's not to her liking, either. It tastes a bit weak. She sets it down.
"Where have you been?" Georgia asks, and Margaret blinks at the question. She's supposed to be the one with questions, it throws her a bit off track. "I mean, where- where did you go?" she adds, when Margaret doesn't look away. "We never, uh, found out."
"We know your dad got you somewhere safe," Billy adds, "But we never found out. Um."
There's a small silence.
"I lived near here," Margaret says, and that's the end of it. They don't want to know more; she asks why.
"Hell," Billy laughs. "If someone comes here and tries to ask for you to get leverage against your dad, I don't want to be the one to-"
"Will," Georgia says, laughter gone from her voice, and she elbows him hard in the ribs. He yelps.
Margaret knows that they find her sudden alertness disconcerting. They're werewolves, she knows, and she finds a familiar wariness from their quarter. They stare at each other.
"So he's alive," she says softly.
"It's not like she wasn't going to find out," Billy says, rubbing his side.
Georgia rolls her eyes. "Jesus."
"Where is he? What happened to him? What does he do?" she raps out, and watches them carefully consider her questions. She can tell that they don't want to lie to her, it's obvious in the twist of Georgia's lips as she stares at Maggie's face, Billy Borden's frown, their hands knotting and twisting in their laps.
"Neither of us knows where he is. We don't know what he does," Billy says, at last, carefully.
"Fuck you." Margaret says, impatience finally boiling up. "Tell me! It's not like I'm going to chase after him and get myself in danger! I know about this sort of thing, okay? I just want to fucking know!"
"He always played the barbarian in our D&D games," he says.
She crosses her arms.
"I... we're not the best people to talk to you about this," Billy tries again at last."You'd better talk to Karrin."
---
She recognizes the girl at once.
She's wearing jeans and a white blouse, and a loose jacket on top of that. She might as well be just another girl, coming in with a complaint, or a newbie's girlfriend, inattentive to the STAFF ONLY signs on the doors, but something jerks her eyes up to the girl's dark hair and a flash of a thin, delicate nose and a strong jaw. She's aware of setting her papers down and staring hard, trying to get a better glimpse; but she doesn't need to. Magnetically, the girl's head turns, and their eyes meet, like in some bad movie, across the room.
"Lieutenant Murphy?" the girl calls, and the room hushes for a moment- not because of the words, but because the voice is clear and carrying and authoritative. The kind of voice that makes people shut up, because it says: listen to me. This is important.
Karrin clears her throat. "Sergeant," she says, an old scar, and she experimentally brushes it with a thought to see if it hurts.
It does not. In the face of the girl she gave up her career for, it no longer seems to matter, Sergeant or Lieutenant or goddamn Chief, all those stupid shallow things that will never equal the shine of her blade or the spreading smile on Maggie Dresden's face.
"Sergeant Murphy," she repeats, and the girl walks closer. She drinks in her features, the clean tan skin, the eyes, the cheekbones. "Let's go for a drink."
Murphy buys her coffee and a slice of light chocolate mousse. The girl smiles irresistibly; she is adorable. "You're sixteen now?" Murphy asks.
"Seventeen," she insists.
"...This June," she admits.
Murphy smiles.
"You, er. You're a Knight of the Cross," Maggie says. "Why- um, no offense, why are you-"
"I got into some trouble a few years ago," Murphy says. "I- was offered a new job. I took it. But I didn't leave my old one."
Maggie looks troubled. It's the same expression Harry used to wear when she was talking about her crappy job. That she'd never leave, but, yes. "I- that trouble- it was because of me?"
She can see it's a shot in the dark. The girl knows almost nothing. But she doesn't want to lie, so she snakes out her fork and steals a bit of the cake before she answers: yes.
"I have nightmares," the girl confesses. "There's- fire, I think, and..."
Murphy clears her throat. "You came to ask about your father. Will gave me a heads up, but I was expecting you a week earlier."
"What- oh, yeah." Maggie shrugs. "I had this internship thing."
Which revives Murphy's curiosity about where this girl went, precisely- Dresden handed her off to someone after they came back, but she doesn't know whom to. But she doesn't want to endanger anyone.
"He fought monsters," Murphy says.
Her eyes shine.
Murphy tells her more.
---- They fly to Vegas the very next day; Maggie fobs off her dad with some excuse about a sleepover, and Murphy takes some long overdue leave. Maggie pays for her ticket.
"Is he dangerous?" she asks.
"White Court." Murphy answers. "Done your reading?"
She has.
She's still not prepared to meet Thomas Raith, whose grin disarms her almost instantly. She nearly reels. "Stop that." she gasps.
"Not something I can really help," he says, with an apologetic, liquid shrug that makes her imagine things she didn't even know. Then he blinks. "Karrin. You brought-"
"She seems fairly responsible," she says. "Use your discretion. She wants to know about Harry."
His mouth is open. "You have- wow. Hi. Um."
She folds her arms, and he suddenly bursts out into laughter. "Oh god, you have the same- way of- looking-"
He's howling in the parking lot, hysterically amused, and Murphy kicks him lightly in the ribs. "I'm sorry." he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Oh my god. Where did you go?"
"I live with my dad," she mutters.
"I'm not even going to ask," he giggles, and then unexpectedly pulls her close and kisses her on the cheek. She's too surprised to stiffen. "You know you're my niece?"
"Thomas!" Murphy says, sounding shocked.
"I love her," Thomas says, grinning widely as he pushes her back, hands on her shoulders, examining her face without meeting her eyes. "You're perfect."
She can't help it; she blushes.
"You're incorrigible," Murphy says.
"We're going to be best friends," Thomas says. Margaret thinks he's a little bit insane, but she looks at his face and can't make out anything except a wild happiness and some relief, and she thinks: well, there's a story behind this all, isn't there...
It's nightfall in Vegas, and he whirls around to Murphy, almost dancing with glee. "Let's go to dinner," he says.
----- She likes Thomas; partly because it's obvious that he really likes her. But as the night wears on, he becomes a little more sober and closed-off. Murphy plays with her drink, looking mildly amused and unhappy at the same time, frowning whenever Thomas's narrative crosses some invisible line. Several times she cuts in sharply.
"What? I can't even tell her about Luccio?" he says. "She's harmless!"
Murphy twitches a little.
"As in, she never tried to kill Harry intentionally," Thomas says, rolling his eyes. "You might want to give her a call," he adds.
"That depends on who dumped whom," she says. "I mean, I don't want to make her uncomfortable. Um."
"I rather think she dumped him," he says lightly. "It was all a little complicated, near the end. I... Murphy has her number, you could give her a call."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Murphy says. She's been saying that a lot, tonight.
"She'll talk to you," Thomas says to her. "She won't be able to give you any details I can't- I know more about him- but she was the one who was close to him, near the end. I, uh, lost touch with him. Two years, before. You know. He became Knight."
"I-" she starts, and then says yes.
When she says goodbye to Thomas, he gives her a jagged, pained smile and kisses her on the forehead. "Don't call me," he whispers into her ear. "Karrin brought you this once, and that was okay, but now- never call me again, you hear? I'm so sorry. I'll contact you again when you're old enough to protect yourself."
Maggie takes the slip of paper from his perfect hands and can't believe that this is the only thing that he's getting out of this.
"I'd- oh hell, I'd give you my pentacle, but it's-" Thomas's laugh is dark. "Not an option. So. This is- goodbye?"
It is.
-- Luccio is a sweet-faced young woman with light brown hair and placid features. Maggie's first impression of her is don't point that sword at me please.
"You're serious," she says flatly. "You're Dresden's daughter."
"Margaret," she answers, looking coldly back. She doesn't appreciate being held at swordpoint, and is doing her damnedest to conceal her fear. "Margaret Dresden. I came here under the assumption that I would be met with something other than steel."
She takes a closer look at Luccio's eyes. They're... like stones, actually. Maggie doesn't like her much at first.
Luccio doesn't invite her in. Maggie knows she hasn't come into her power completely, but there's a sizable chunk of energy she leaves at the doorway that feels like a weak punch in the gut. She scowls, not mollified even at the cup of cocoa she's offered.
She takes a look around while Luccio reclines in her seat. The house is large but empty. The furnishings are old but impersonal. The only thing that looks new is the sword over the fireplace. A woman with only her duty in her life. Maggie feels sorry for her.
"Did you love my dad?" she asks.
"Big punches first, child?" Luccio says. "No. I was not. Were you informed of the situation?"
"There was... chaos in the Council," Maggie ventures, when it becomes apparent that it is not a rhetorical question. "A breakdown in the chain of command... mind control over the Wardens?" The last one is actually a guess.
"Your father was very kind about it," Luccio says, and Maggie can hear something hateful in her voice. "He was... a good man. How much do you know?"
"My... someone told me he became the Winter Knight," Maggie says. "And I've heard plenty of stories... what he was like. I don't need those from you. I just want to know what he was like near the end."
The woman's smile is actually quite kind this time. "I-" she starts, and then laughs. "Oh dear. I suppose it doesn't matter now- he's out of power. Hidden away somewhere."
"My dad?" Maggie's suddenly on alert.
"Not him." Luccio's suddenly very interested in her cup. "What- tell me what you know about him."
Maggie's tired from her flight, and she has another one to get back home to her dad before he gets mad or suspicious, but she finds the energy to talk the next two hours away. Some of it seems new to Luccio, there's a ragged, pained tenderness on her face as she listens to some of the stories.
"Oh- he would," she might say, pouring a new cup of tea. "My goodness, no wonder he never told me. A barbarian? Really?"
"I wasn't completely not in love," Luccio says, four hours later. Maggie's eyes are almost shut, but the next words jolt her out of sleep. "But- oh, it can't do any harm. Have you heard of John Marcone?"
Maggie stays still. It's a good move, because she senses something strange here, something that must be maneuvered carefully. She knows by instinct the exact careless tone in which to say, "Oh- he was some politico, wasn't he? Maybe a decade ago? I read about him in papers sometimes."
Luccio smiles. "That's him. I just want you to know that- near the end- he was happy. I'm not sure anyone else was close enough to him at the time to know this- people were jumping ship like rats- but... I'm not saying you search for him, but John Marcone might even answer some of your questions, if you can get the answers out of him. He was a stubborn bastard."
Maggie doesn't move.
"They were in love," Luccio says quietly. "And that- made it easy, to leave him. I don't know what Karrin Murphy told you, but I never left him because I was a cold heartless bitch, or because I never felt anything for him at all. It was the telepathic control, yes, but also- he was so happy. And let me tell you, it was devastating to see it all taken away. He left everything behind, you know."
"They were lovers," she says. "My dad... was gay?"
"Bisexual is how I understand it," Luccio says, and starts talking about something else- that Maggie shouldn't regret the loss, and maybe she could take comfort from this and that fact- but Maggie's mind is locking onto all the pieces with frightening clarity, reaching into memory and finding out things that should have been so, so obvious.
-
Her father's shoulders are a straight, angry, perfectly tailored Armani line in the moonlight. She stands at the doorway of his office, bursting with self-righteous anger. "You never told me," she hisses.
"No." he says, and John Marcone turns around. His eyes cut through her. "You never told me you were looking."
"I was always asking you!" she screams, and the walls deaden the noise. He's probably killed people here before, she thinks, overcome with malice and hatred, he probably had them specially stuffed with horsehair to muffle the gunshots.
"Not really," The moonlight glances off his silver hair as he turns around to face the city again, and she catches the remote expression his face and grows even angrier. "You always thought it hurt me when you asked. You stopped around eleven years of age."
"It did hurt you," Maggie snaps, momentarily derailed. "Don't lie."
"I was never jealous. It was just that-" and her father is so honest with her right now, the rise and fall of his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "-things- move. They pass. Time. People. I wish you hadn't."
He must be very tired, to be speaking that frankly. She steps closer.
"Oh, Maggie," he says gently, old and weary and not faking at all. She catches his arm, uncertainly, realizing for the first time that maybe the pain is not entirely hers alone. "I really wish you hadn't done that."
"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," she says, a little terrified and sorry, wanting to wipe that look off his face. "I- won't ask anymore, okay? You don't have to tell me. I won't go looking."
"I would have told you, in time," he says, focusing more on her now, and she swallows when she sees his eyes. They reflect light that isn't there and shine green in the night. "But it is rather too late for that right now."
He clasps her shoulder and turns her around, a little, to look outside of the window. She stifles her voice.
It wasn't the city he'd been looking out on, after all.
It was a gate.
"He wants to meet you," says John Marcone, voice steamrolled flat by the weight of the fear behind it.
-- "He won't hurt you," her father tells her as they step outside into the balcony. It's summer, but the nights are cold; she shivers. His arm tightens around her. "Not physically- he'd never lay a finger on you."
"I sort of got that," she says. "That's what everyone was telling me."
He ignores her. "But he- from all accounts, he's not- who he used to be. He might try to tell you things. They might be disturbing. Just ignore them. And when he winds down-" here her father let out a slightly bitter, sad laugh- "he always does, you know, wind down, he's quick to forgiveness, like the old Scriptures- you tell him to let you go. Repeat it. Make him see you sincerely went to get out of the Nevernever, and he'll let you go."
"What about you?" she says. "You're staying behind-"
"I'm not letting you go off on your own," he says fiercely, his green eyes perhaps a little overbright, and as they're jolted through the circle of light, she thinks: dad, you bloody idiot.
--
The sensation that she's flying through something abruptly turns into the sensation of having been upright and motionless for the last few seconds.
"Oh," she says.
She's in a room. There are lots of people. That does not precisely mean that it is a public place.
She knows about the Fae; her dad told her a lot of fairy tales when she was young. He also taught her to be an excellent shooter, a good negotiator, and terrifying in a judo match. Maybe it was just training, all along; her hand steals to the little horseshoe necklace he gave her for her eighth birthday, and she goes a little pale.
The fairies he told her about where backstabbing, frightening creatures who made vicious deals and were good with words. Later, as she grew up, he started mentioning parts about the gratuitous sex, but hearing that sort of fairy tale from your dad got creepy when you were fifteen, so she'd asked him to stop. He'd given her a book, anyway. He'd never known when to stop pushing.
He isn't here. She shoves down her panic and forces herself to look around.
There are a lot of naked limbs draped over each other. The nearest being is a dark-skinned, slender woman wearing just a string of small white pearls a few feet away- she lifts her head lazily, her sated green eyes giving Maggie a jolt. "Come and join?" she murmurs, her body moving sinuously.
"No," she whispers, a little fascinated, a little terrified.
"Oh god. You're late," a man says, on her other side- Maggie jumps, and then tried to look like it hadn't been a jump. The man has long legs draped over someone else's waist, and he ignores the murmurs of protest as he pushes himself up. "We had five fucking orgies while waiting for you, princess."
"Really?" she says.
The man rolls his eyes. He is young looking, maybe her age; good looking in a vaguely irritating way. "Margaret, right?"
"Yeah," she whispers. He has the creepiest eyes; the pupils are just dots in a circle of pale blue. He is wearing boxers, and oddly a belt with a sword on top of that- the effect is vaguely surreal, and it could have been humorous. She's just terrified.
"Margaret." he says, rolling the name around on his tongue. It's vaguely obscene. "Maggie."
She narrows her eyes. "Don't call me that."
"Maggie," he tosses out again, flippantly. "Okay, first lesson, Maggie? That necklace you're wearing? Iron? Bad idea. They're starting to wake up; we're really sensitive about this sort of thing."
"I'm sorry," she says, and then remembers herself. "But how the fuck was I supposed to know?"
He smiles. It's a nicer smile than before, but his voice is as annoying and condescending when he answers; "Maybe some common fucking sense? Let's go, can't keep Da Man waiting."
"My dad," she says, as he hustles her inside a doorway. "My biological dad, I mean. He's- really. The Knight. The Faerie Knight."
"The Winter Knight," he says, sounding annoyed. His palm is icy on her arm, and she tries to move away. It grips all the more tightly. "Okay, try not to forget that. He's not fucking Tinkerbell. You come into your magic yet?"
The question throws her off guard. "Uh- yeah," she says. "Yeah. I'm getting training from my dad's, um, employee."
"Valkyrie still working for him?" the man laughs. "Oh, that's a laugh. And he got so pathetic, too, after he got you under his wing. You know, he gave up about his his empire for you?"
There's something in his voice. It's not a nice thing. It scares her.
"I- know," she whispers. Fascination overcomes fear. "Really?"
"He controlled Chicago before he adopted you," he said. "And then he wasted his life on the daughter of some useless bastard who couldn't keep his head screwed on to do anything by himself."
"You can't talk about him like that," Margaret says angrily. "You're his- you work for him, right? You can't say that."
"Can't I, fucking," he retorts smartly. "It's not like he cares anymore."
"What do you mean?" she says, but they reach the right door. The man drags her inside a large room.
"Oh wow," she breathes, forgetting herself for a moment. "Does he live here?"
The walls and ceiling are made of some clear crystal that seems to fade into opacity miles away. Rugs litter the floor, and there's a bookshelf over there... and there... a half-open door through which she can see a porcelain sink. There's a mussed-up bed, and a neatly folded black robe on that; the man who just led her inside walks towards it and dons it.
"Sometimes," he answers.
"I- have questions," she says, and then shakes her head. "But who are you? What's your name?"
"Names are difficult in Faerie," he says. "But you can call me Blackstone. Good a name as any. I'm... well, I fought the Winter Knight once."
"And he let you live?" Margaret blinks. "I mean, well. Um."
"Not like he had choice in the matter," says Blackstone. "I'm pretty high up on the ladder. He wasn't in any state to protest when I got back at him."
"What do you mean?"
He grins with casual cruelty at her concern. "He'd been tortured. He was pretty much out of his mind. If he'd had any brain left, he would have asked me to kill him. Oh... well, I can't say he deserved it."
She flinches- thinks about being angry- curiosity wins over. "But... now?" she asks.
"More or less back on track," Blackstone says, lying back on the bed and crossing his legs. He has long legs. "But a little different, the last few weeks- he's got some crazy idea in his head, he won't let go of it."
"Does it have to do with me?"
He looks over, his eerie-blue eyes glowing. "You figure in the Winter Knight's plans, yes."
"How?"
"Tell me about yourself,." he says.
--
When they drag in John Marcone, he's a mess. There's an insane glint in his eyes, and he won't go of the ring they've been trying to tear away. A small chunk of iron glints dully from where it's set.
"Dad!" Margaret stands up, appalled.
"Unhand me," says the Baron coldly. "Or face me under the Accords, you dog."
He's talking to Blackstone. Maggie looks at him, uncertain for the first time. There's something on her dad's face, beyond rage. There's hurt.
"Let him go," Blackstone says, and the white-haired man who brought John takes his hand off his shoulder, looking frigid. He bows before leaving.
There is silence in the room.
"Let me take a look at that," Blackstone says, nodding at John's bloodied hand.
"No," snarled her dad. "Maggie. What did he do to you?"
"I'm touched. I really am," Blackstone says, and his voice is genuine. Glancing at him quickly, Margaret notices that his eyes have changed color. They're dark now, like her own.
Something locks into place in her mind.
"You're-" she searches for words. "You're the Winter Knight."
"At your service," Harry Dresden says, and he sounds defeated and weary and heartsick, and he's looking at her, and then at her father, who looks like he wants to kill Dresden. "John. Come and sit down."
"How dare you," the man says angrily, but he walks forward almost instantly. "How dare you take her."
"We just had a talk," Dresden says, and folds down when John Marcone stands in front of him. "I told them to leave you alone unless you resisted," he adds, clasping his hand.
"You're insane. Insane. Why." Her dad closes his eyes as Dresden murmurs something in Latin. There's a faint blue shimmer.
"What color are my eyes?"
John Marcone stares down at them, and then glances away. "Dark brown."
"You see," Dresden said, smiling painfully.
"What's going on?" Margaret bursts out at last. "What- what the serious fuck, guys."
"Mab's watch on him," her father murmurs. "He got away. For how long... what on earth are you up to? Harry?"
"You know better than I do. You've been developing it for eight years."
John Marcone seems to grasp it instantly. "You stupid bastard," he snarls. "You can't."
"Why else would you have come up with it?" Harry Dresden says softly. "You started working on it after that Accords meeting. You saw me..."
There's an entire conversation going on in the following silence, and Maggie tries hard to understand what's going on. It's difficult.
"It was just theory. Theory and guesswork," her father whispers. "You realize- you're asking me to kill you."
"It would be better," Harry Dresden says. "You've never shirked hard decisions, John. And I'm making this one for myself. This job's for life. I'm asking you to release me from it. Just like I released the last Winter Knight."
Maggie stands there, realizing she's not in this room anymore.
John Marcone's mouth twists angrily.
Dresden touches his shoulder, and then turns back to Maggie. "So, it's true?" he says, and there's something challenging in his voice. "You raised her alone?"
Her father bares his teeth, a little, in reply.
"You stupid monogamous bastard," Harry says.
Her dad- John- makes a small, pained noise in his throat. Harry Dresden shudders for a moment, physically resisting something, before letting out a faint gasp and jerking forth to kiss him.
She has- never seen anything like it before. It takes her completely by surprise, hurts her as much as it stuns her. Harry looks about twenty five, although she knows he's about forty now, but her dad looks every one of his fifty two years. They make the strangest picture, and perhaps even a wrong one. It's wrenching, and she realizes that they must have been-
Her first is 'younger', but the second thought overtakes it, overpowers it-
They must have been so very in love.
She- cannot look away, fascinated and horrified at once- not horrified because they're gay or because her dad looks so old and tired right now, she hastily corrects herself in her own head, but because what's been done to them- Harry's wearing the most miserable expression she's ever seen on a human face as he pulls away, and John's is blank, frighteningly blank, managing to look austere even with swollen lips and glazed eyes. The nearest she's ever seen that look on his face is the one time he found her doing drugs, the first and only time for her, after she'd come home from Evelyn's party. The expression had been enough to deter her from doing anything like that again, but-
But this was even worse.
"Dresden," her dad says, his voice hoarse, and he clears his throat.
Harry looks at her, and for the first time she sees what everyone else meant- he does look like her. It's the eyes; they've lost the insane, furious shine, and now he just looks tired and sad. "She's- oh, damn her." he says, and although the words are harsh, it's the most tender thing he's ever said to her so far, and Maggie feels her face move in a smile. "You've seen worse, kid."
She wants to joke with him, she wants to get to know him and make him laugh and get that goddamn tired look off his face, but she doesn't dare. John's staring at the ground, and she takes in his silver hair and the creases at the corners of his eyes and the sag in his shoulders with new eyes. She doesn't want to wear him out, she thinks, she just wants to take their hands and beg them to run away, let's just run away, let's get out of here and get to know each other and let's see if we can make each other laugh...
Instead, she says: "Hell yeah, I've seen worse."
She has so many questions.
"It's- complicated," Harry laughs, seeing her face. She likes his eyes, meeting them across the room. "John's going to do it. He might explain it to you later."
Her dad's face is frozen in misery, and she wants to say something to him, but Harry is striding towards her, long legs eating up the distance between them in seconds, and his hands are on her shoulder. He has to bend to to look at her face. "This is hello." he says as she meets his eyes.
-
She's gibbering when she comes out of it, and her dad is shouting something at Harry Dresden, who's wearing a slightly drunken smile as he stumbles back. Maggie wipes the tears from her eyes and stares at her wet hand, uncomprehending.
"What was that? What was that?" she keeps asking, even as John Marcone takes Harry's shoulder and starts shaking him, shouting something about you inconsiderate bastard. "No, dad, it's okay, I swear- it was so beautiful-"
"So was yours," Harry says, speaking to both of them before winding his hands into John's hair and pulling him close. "So was yours, I promise."
This is seriously awful, I am sorry. Try not to read it. You have better things to do. This just fails on so many levels. The reason I'm posting is that breaking a promise would be even worse.
You're full of wrong here, anon. This fill is really fantastic.
It's not terrible. It's so fucking far from terrible that I had tears in my eyes when I finished reading this. It was exactly what I was looking for, bittersweet and longing and so fucking in love, it hurts. My god if you think this is terrible, how much more brilliant are your other works?
Oh my fucking god. *incoherent* I...there are no words, because your beautiful, beautiful words have reached inside me and twisted up my heart into little pieces.
Wow this is good. Authornon I would have been so mad at you if you hadn't posted this. Well, no, because I wouldn't have known, but still. Awesomeness needs to be shared.
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Maggie's guardian
(Anonymous) 2011-02-26 02:44 pm (UTC)(link)She learns about how he lived, what he was like as a person, through her new guardian, and through the new people she meets, all of whom knew her father the way she never got to.
Past Marcone/Dresden is optional.
Re: Maggie's guardian
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 08:37 am (UTC)(link)I failed at it and deleted the file in a fit of frustration, but if someone else wrote this and struck the right balance of bittersweet that I never managed... whoa.
tldr: Seconded.
OP Re: Maggie's guardian
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 12:36 pm (UTC)(link)That bit about people not wanting to tell her everything, that really struck me. She's going to know Harry in pieces, pieces of him left behind after the job as Winter Knight makes him snap.
/searches the Nevernever for the file you deleted/
Re: OP Re: Maggie's guardian
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 03:35 pm (UTC)(link)I could do it in drabble style. Disconnected pieces of dialogue/memory. IDK.
My real life, it is forgotten.
OP Re: Maggie's guardian
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 11:48 am (UTC)(link)Sorry for the horrifying late reply. I accidentally deleted a bunch of my bookmarks.
Re: OP Re: Maggie's guardian
(Anonymous) 2011-02-27 04:25 pm (UTC)(link)OP Re: Maggie's guardian
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 11:50 am (UTC)(link)lol share the crazy with me.
Terrible Fill 1/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 02:08 pm (UTC)(link)"So tell me," the girl says, tilting her head up at them. "Tell me everything. You have to."
Michael Carpenter pours her a glass of juice. Over a decade has passed since... since. But he can still remember Harry's face, its sharp angles and pallor and the dark bold eyes. The girl resembles him so much it's painful.
Oh, not the precise features. But the expression. The obstinacy. The same anger, although Harry carried a great more with him, and it always showed.
"He was a good man," he answers honestly. Maggie's- she told him that she was Margaret Dresden when she met him at the door, but Michael could help but think of her as Maggie- eyes narrow, and her impatience with him is palpable. The same temper. Michael hides his smile. "I'm sorry- what do you mean by 'everything'? If you ask me, I'll try to answer."
"Will you?" she says. Or seethes. She's intense.
"I'll try to try?" he offers, and has the pleasure of seeing her smile. Just a little, but it's good to see. "Things were... complicated. Please. Ask. I'll try to help you out."
"Is he still alive?"
Such a simple question. Michael answers honestly, as usual. "I do not know." For sure. Almost certainly the Winter Knight was still on the move- he would have heard otherwise- but, ah, there was always a margin of doubt, yes? And it would be... dangerous. If she tried to find out more. "He disappeared."
"What happened to me?"
"I wasn't there."
"So something did happen."
Michael sighs. Some things had to give. "Yes, it did. I don't know the specifics. He saved your life."
"Who's my mom?" she asks, and when he hesitates she snaps, "You said you'd try!"
"I'm trying!" Michael raises his hands, and smiles at him apologetically. No, there would be no danger in telling her about a woman named Susan Rodriguez. She almost certainly had no living relatives. Her liaison with Harry Dresden had been a relatively short one. But about Harry himself, he would- no, he could- say nothing. He should not. The last thing he wanted to happen to Harry was seeing what he'd lost.
Or the other way around, he reminded himself. The last thing he wanted for Maggie was to let her see what her father had become.
--
Billy Borden does not offer her juice.
"Fuuuuck," he says when she introduced herself. "Fucking hell."
He is not tall, but Margaret is not tall for her age, either, and she has to tilt her head nonetheless. "Well, you didn't get his height, did you?" he finally says, holding open the door. She slips in.
He gives her a beer, and calls down a tall woman. They both blink at her for a minute before sitting down. Margaret starts to talk, but he holds a hand up, and gulps down two cans before finally staring at her in the eye.
"Do I look like him?" Margaret asks.
"Hell no," he says instantly, at the same time his wife vehemently says "Oh yes." They look at each other.
"I mean, her eyes." Georgia says.
"She looks like Susan."
"No, I mean, unfocus your eyes a bit," Georgia says. "Hey kid, stick out your chin a bit and try to look obstinately heroic."
Margaret hides a smile. Billy breaks out into laughter- genuine, if a bit hysterical. "Jesus," he says. "I can't believe I'm meeting you."
She tries her beer. Her dad never lets her have any. It's not bitter, but it's not to her liking, either. It tastes a bit weak. She sets it down.
"Where have you been?" Georgia asks, and Margaret blinks at the question. She's supposed to be the one with questions, it throws her a bit off track. "I mean, where- where did you go?" she adds, when Margaret doesn't look away. "We never, uh, found out."
"We know your dad got you somewhere safe," Billy adds, "But we never found out. Um."
There's a small silence.
"I lived near here," Margaret says, and that's the end of it. They don't want to know more; she asks why.
"Hell," Billy laughs. "If someone comes here and tries to ask for you to get leverage against your dad, I don't want to be the one to-"
"Will," Georgia says, laughter gone from her voice, and she elbows him hard in the ribs. He yelps.
Margaret knows that they find her sudden alertness disconcerting. They're werewolves, she knows, and she finds a familiar wariness from their quarter. They stare at each other.
"So he's alive," she says softly.
"It's not like she wasn't going to find out," Billy says, rubbing his side.
Georgia rolls her eyes. "Jesus."
"Where is he? What happened to him? What does he do?" she raps out, and watches them carefully consider her questions. She can tell that they don't want to lie to her, it's obvious in the twist of Georgia's lips as she stares at Maggie's face, Billy Borden's frown, their hands knotting and twisting in their laps.
"Neither of us knows where he is. We don't know what he does," Billy says, at last, carefully.
"Fuck you." Margaret says, impatience finally boiling up. "Tell me! It's not like I'm going to chase after him and get myself in danger! I know about this sort of thing, okay? I just want to fucking know!"
"He always played the barbarian in our D&D games," he says.
She crosses her arms.
"I... we're not the best people to talk to you about this," Billy tries again at last."You'd better talk to Karrin."
---
She recognizes the girl at once.
She's wearing jeans and a white blouse, and a loose jacket on top of that. She might as well be just another girl, coming in with a complaint, or a newbie's girlfriend, inattentive to the STAFF ONLY signs on the doors, but something jerks her eyes up to the girl's dark hair and a flash of a thin, delicate nose and a strong jaw. She's aware of setting her papers down and staring hard, trying to get a better glimpse; but she doesn't need to. Magnetically, the girl's head turns, and their eyes meet, like in some bad movie, across the room.
"Lieutenant Murphy?" the girl calls, and the room hushes for a moment- not because of the words, but because the voice is clear and carrying and authoritative. The kind of voice that makes people shut up, because it says: listen to me. This is important.
Karrin clears her throat. "Sergeant," she says, an old scar, and she experimentally brushes it with a thought to see if it hurts.
It does not. In the face of the girl she gave up her career for, it no longer seems to matter, Sergeant or Lieutenant or goddamn Chief, all those stupid shallow things that will never equal the shine of her blade or the spreading smile on Maggie Dresden's face.
"Sergeant Murphy," she repeats, and the girl walks closer. She drinks in her features, the clean tan skin, the eyes, the cheekbones. "Let's go for a drink."
Murphy buys her coffee and a slice of light chocolate mousse. The girl smiles irresistibly; she is adorable. "You're sixteen now?" Murphy asks.
"Seventeen," she insists.
"...This June," she admits.
Murphy smiles.
"You, er. You're a Knight of the Cross," Maggie says. "Why- um, no offense, why are you-"
"I got into some trouble a few years ago," Murphy says. "I- was offered a new job. I took it. But I didn't leave my old one."
Maggie looks troubled. It's the same expression Harry used to wear when she was talking about her crappy job. That she'd never leave, but, yes. "I- that trouble- it was because of me?"
She can see it's a shot in the dark. The girl knows almost nothing. But she doesn't want to lie, so she snakes out her fork and steals a bit of the cake before she answers: yes.
"I have nightmares," the girl confesses. "There's- fire, I think, and..."
Murphy clears her throat. "You came to ask about your father. Will gave me a heads up, but I was expecting you a week earlier."
"What- oh, yeah." Maggie shrugs. "I had this internship thing."
Which revives Murphy's curiosity about where this girl went, precisely- Dresden handed her off to someone after they came back, but she doesn't know whom to. But she doesn't want to endanger anyone.
"He fought monsters," Murphy says.
Her eyes shine.
Murphy tells her more.
----
They fly to Vegas the very next day; Maggie fobs off her dad with some excuse about a sleepover, and Murphy takes some long overdue leave. Maggie pays for her ticket.
"Is he dangerous?" she asks.
"White Court." Murphy answers. "Done your reading?"
She has.
She's still not prepared to meet Thomas Raith, whose grin disarms her almost instantly. She nearly reels. "Stop that." she gasps.
"Not something I can really help," he says, with an apologetic, liquid shrug that makes her imagine things she didn't even know. Then he blinks. "Karrin. You brought-"
"She seems fairly responsible," she says. "Use your discretion. She wants to know about Harry."
His mouth is open. "You have- wow. Hi. Um."
She folds her arms, and he suddenly bursts out into laughter. "Oh god, you have the same- way of- looking-"
He's howling in the parking lot, hysterically amused, and Murphy kicks him lightly in the ribs. "I'm sorry." he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Oh my god. Where did you go?"
"I live with my dad," she mutters.
"I'm not even going to ask," he giggles, and then unexpectedly pulls her close and kisses her on the cheek. She's too surprised to stiffen. "You know you're my niece?"
"Thomas!" Murphy says, sounding shocked.
"I love her," Thomas says, grinning widely as he pushes her back, hands on her shoulders, examining her face without meeting her eyes. "You're perfect."
She can't help it; she blushes.
"You're incorrigible," Murphy says.
"We're going to be best friends," Thomas says. Margaret thinks he's a little bit insane, but she looks at his face and can't make out anything except a wild happiness and some relief, and she thinks: well, there's a story behind this all, isn't there...
It's nightfall in Vegas, and he whirls around to Murphy, almost dancing with glee. "Let's go to dinner," he says.
-----
She likes Thomas; partly because it's obvious that he really likes her. But as the night wears on, he becomes a little more sober and closed-off. Murphy plays with her drink, looking mildly amused and unhappy at the same time, frowning whenever Thomas's narrative crosses some invisible line. Several times she cuts in sharply.
"What? I can't even tell her about Luccio?" he says. "She's harmless!"
Murphy twitches a little.
"As in, she never tried to kill Harry intentionally," Thomas says, rolling his eyes. "You might want to give her a call," he adds.
"That depends on who dumped whom," she says. "I mean, I don't want to make her uncomfortable. Um."
"I rather think she dumped him," he says lightly. "It was all a little complicated, near the end. I... Murphy has her number, you could give her a call."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Murphy says. She's been saying that a lot, tonight.
"She'll talk to you," Thomas says to her. "She won't be able to give you any details I can't- I know more about him- but she was the one who was close to him, near the end. I, uh, lost touch with him. Two years, before. You know. He became Knight."
"I-" she starts, and then says yes.
When she says goodbye to Thomas, he gives her a jagged, pained smile and kisses her on the forehead. "Don't call me," he whispers into her ear. "Karrin brought you this once, and that was okay, but now- never call me again, you hear? I'm so sorry. I'll contact you again when you're old enough to protect yourself."
Maggie takes the slip of paper from his perfect hands and can't believe that this is the only thing that he's getting out of this.
"I'd- oh hell, I'd give you my pentacle, but it's-" Thomas's laugh is dark. "Not an option. So. This is- goodbye?"
It is.
--
Luccio is a sweet-faced young woman with light brown hair and placid features. Maggie's first impression of her is don't point that sword at me please.
"You're serious," she says flatly. "You're Dresden's daughter."
"Margaret," she answers, looking coldly back. She doesn't appreciate being held at swordpoint, and is doing her damnedest to conceal her fear. "Margaret Dresden. I came here under the assumption that I would be met with something other than steel."
She takes a closer look at Luccio's eyes. They're... like stones, actually. Maggie doesn't like her much at first.
Luccio doesn't invite her in. Maggie knows she hasn't come into her power completely, but there's a sizable chunk of energy she leaves at the doorway that feels like a weak punch in the gut. She scowls, not mollified even at the cup of cocoa she's offered.
She takes a look around while Luccio reclines in her seat. The house is large but empty. The furnishings are old but impersonal. The only thing that looks new is the sword over the fireplace. A woman with only her duty in her life. Maggie feels sorry for her.
"Did you love my dad?" she asks.
"Big punches first, child?" Luccio says. "No. I was not. Were you informed of the situation?"
"There was... chaos in the Council," Maggie ventures, when it becomes apparent that it is not a rhetorical question. "A breakdown in the chain of command... mind control over the Wardens?" The last one is actually a guess.
"Your father was very kind about it," Luccio says, and Maggie can hear something hateful in her voice. "He was... a good man. How much do you know?"
"My... someone told me he became the Winter Knight," Maggie says. "And I've heard plenty of stories... what he was like. I don't need those from you. I just want to know what he was like near the end."
The woman's smile is actually quite kind this time. "I-" she starts, and then laughs. "Oh dear. I suppose it doesn't matter now- he's out of power. Hidden away somewhere."
"My dad?" Maggie's suddenly on alert.
"Not him." Luccio's suddenly very interested in her cup. "What- tell me what you know about him."
Maggie's tired from her flight, and she has another one to get back home to her dad before he gets mad or suspicious, but she finds the energy to talk the next two hours away. Some of it seems new to Luccio, there's a ragged, pained tenderness on her face as she listens to some of the stories.
"Oh- he would," she might say, pouring a new cup of tea. "My goodness, no wonder he never told me. A barbarian? Really?"
"I wasn't completely not in love," Luccio says, four hours later. Maggie's eyes are almost shut, but the next words jolt her out of sleep. "But- oh, it can't do any harm. Have you heard of John Marcone?"
Maggie stays still. It's a good move, because she senses something strange here, something that must be maneuvered carefully. She knows by instinct the exact careless tone in which to say, "Oh- he was some politico, wasn't he? Maybe a decade ago? I read about him in papers sometimes."
Luccio smiles. "That's him. I just want you to know that- near the end- he was happy. I'm not sure anyone else was close enough to him at the time to know this- people were jumping ship like rats- but... I'm not saying you search for him, but John Marcone might even answer some of your questions, if you can get the answers out of him. He was a stubborn bastard."
Maggie doesn't move.
"They were in love," Luccio says quietly. "And that- made it easy, to leave him. I don't know what Karrin Murphy told you, but I never left him because I was a cold heartless bitch, or because I never felt anything for him at all. It was the telepathic control, yes, but also- he was so happy. And let me tell you, it was devastating to see it all taken away. He left everything behind, you know."
Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 02:10 pm (UTC)(link)"Bisexual is how I understand it," Luccio says, and starts talking about something else- that Maggie shouldn't regret the loss, and maybe she could take comfort from this and that fact- but Maggie's mind is locking onto all the pieces with frightening clarity, reaching into memory and finding out things that should have been so, so obvious.
-
Her father's shoulders are a straight, angry, perfectly tailored Armani line in the moonlight. She stands at the doorway of his office, bursting with self-righteous anger. "You never told me," she hisses.
"No." he says, and John Marcone turns around. His eyes cut through her. "You never told me you were looking."
"I was always asking you!" she screams, and the walls deaden the noise. He's probably killed people here before, she thinks, overcome with malice and hatred, he probably had them specially stuffed with horsehair to muffle the gunshots.
"Not really," The moonlight glances off his silver hair as he turns around to face the city again, and she catches the remote expression his face and grows even angrier. "You always thought it hurt me when you asked. You stopped around eleven years of age."
"It did hurt you," Maggie snaps, momentarily derailed. "Don't lie."
"I was never jealous. It was just that-" and her father is so honest with her right now, the rise and fall of his shoulders in a helpless shrug. "-things- move. They pass. Time. People. I wish you hadn't."
He must be very tired, to be speaking that frankly. She steps closer.
"Oh, Maggie," he says gently, old and weary and not faking at all. She catches his arm, uncertainly, realizing for the first time that maybe the pain is not entirely hers alone. "I really wish you hadn't done that."
"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," she says, a little terrified and sorry, wanting to wipe that look off his face. "I- won't ask anymore, okay? You don't have to tell me. I won't go looking."
"I would have told you, in time," he says, focusing more on her now, and she swallows when she sees his eyes. They reflect light that isn't there and shine green in the night. "But it is rather too late for that right now."
He clasps her shoulder and turns her around, a little, to look outside of the window. She stifles her voice.
It wasn't the city he'd been looking out on, after all.
It was a gate.
"He wants to meet you," says John Marcone, voice steamrolled flat by the weight of the fear behind it.
--
"He won't hurt you," her father tells her as they step outside into the balcony. It's summer, but the nights are cold; she shivers. His arm tightens around her. "Not physically- he'd never lay a finger on you."
"I sort of got that," she says. "That's what everyone was telling me."
He ignores her. "But he- from all accounts, he's not- who he used to be. He might try to tell you things. They might be disturbing. Just ignore them. And when he winds down-" here her father let out a slightly bitter, sad laugh- "he always does, you know, wind down, he's quick to forgiveness, like the old Scriptures- you tell him to let you go. Repeat it. Make him see you sincerely went to get out of the Nevernever, and he'll let you go."
"What about you?" she says. "You're staying behind-"
"I'm not letting you go off on your own," he says fiercely, his green eyes perhaps a little overbright, and as they're jolted through the circle of light, she thinks: dad, you bloody idiot.
--
The sensation that she's flying through something abruptly turns into the sensation of having been upright and motionless for the last few seconds.
"Oh," she says.
She's in a room. There are lots of people. That does not precisely mean that it is a public place.
She knows about the Fae; her dad told her a lot of fairy tales when she was young. He also taught her to be an excellent shooter, a good negotiator, and terrifying in a judo match. Maybe it was just training, all along; her hand steals to the little horseshoe necklace he gave her for her eighth birthday, and she goes a little pale.
The fairies he told her about where backstabbing, frightening creatures who made vicious deals and were good with words. Later, as she grew up, he started mentioning parts about the gratuitous sex, but hearing that sort of fairy tale from your dad got creepy when you were fifteen, so she'd asked him to stop. He'd given her a book, anyway. He'd never known when to stop pushing.
He isn't here. She shoves down her panic and forces herself to look around.
There are a lot of naked limbs draped over each other. The nearest being is a dark-skinned, slender woman wearing just a string of small white pearls a few feet away- she lifts her head lazily, her sated green eyes giving Maggie a jolt. "Come and join?" she murmurs, her body moving sinuously.
"No," she whispers, a little fascinated, a little terrified.
"Oh god. You're late," a man says, on her other side- Maggie jumps, and then tried to look like it hadn't been a jump. The man has long legs draped over someone else's waist, and he ignores the murmurs of protest as he pushes himself up. "We had five fucking orgies while waiting for you, princess."
"Really?" she says.
The man rolls his eyes. He is young looking, maybe her age; good looking in a vaguely irritating way. "Margaret, right?"
"Yeah," she whispers. He has the creepiest eyes; the pupils are just dots in a circle of pale blue. He is wearing boxers, and oddly a belt with a sword on top of that- the effect is vaguely surreal, and it could have been humorous. She's just terrified.
"Margaret." he says, rolling the name around on his tongue. It's vaguely obscene. "Maggie."
She narrows her eyes. "Don't call me that."
"Maggie," he tosses out again, flippantly. "Okay, first lesson, Maggie? That necklace you're wearing? Iron? Bad idea. They're starting to wake up; we're really sensitive about this sort of thing."
"I'm sorry," she says, and then remembers herself. "But how the fuck was I supposed to know?"
He smiles. It's a nicer smile than before, but his voice is as annoying and condescending when he answers; "Maybe some common fucking sense? Let's go, can't keep Da Man waiting."
"My dad," she says, as he hustles her inside a doorway. "My biological dad, I mean. He's- really. The Knight. The Faerie Knight."
"The Winter Knight," he says, sounding annoyed. His palm is icy on her arm, and she tries to move away. It grips all the more tightly. "Okay, try not to forget that. He's not fucking Tinkerbell. You come into your magic yet?"
The question throws her off guard. "Uh- yeah," she says. "Yeah. I'm getting training from my dad's, um, employee."
"Valkyrie still working for him?" the man laughs. "Oh, that's a laugh. And he got so pathetic, too, after he got you under his wing. You know, he gave up about his his empire for you?"
There's something in his voice. It's not a nice thing. It scares her.
"I- know," she whispers. Fascination overcomes fear. "Really?"
"He controlled Chicago before he adopted you," he said. "And then he wasted his life on the daughter of some useless bastard who couldn't keep his head screwed on to do anything by himself."
"You can't talk about him like that," Margaret says angrily. "You're his- you work for him, right? You can't say that."
"Can't I, fucking," he retorts smartly. "It's not like he cares anymore."
"What do you mean?" she says, but they reach the right door. The man drags her inside a large room.
"Oh wow," she breathes, forgetting herself for a moment. "Does he live here?"
The walls and ceiling are made of some clear crystal that seems to fade into opacity miles away. Rugs litter the floor, and there's a bookshelf over there... and there... a half-open door through which she can see a porcelain sink. There's a mussed-up bed, and a neatly folded black robe on that; the man who just led her inside walks towards it and dons it.
"Sometimes," he answers.
"I- have questions," she says, and then shakes her head. "But who are you? What's your name?"
"Names are difficult in Faerie," he says. "But you can call me Blackstone. Good a name as any. I'm... well, I fought the Winter Knight once."
"And he let you live?" Margaret blinks. "I mean, well. Um."
"Not like he had choice in the matter," says Blackstone. "I'm pretty high up on the ladder. He wasn't in any state to protest when I got back at him."
"What do you mean?"
He grins with casual cruelty at her concern. "He'd been tortured. He was pretty much out of his mind. If he'd had any brain left, he would have asked me to kill him. Oh... well, I can't say he deserved it."
She flinches- thinks about being angry- curiosity wins over. "But... now?" she asks.
"More or less back on track," Blackstone says, lying back on the bed and crossing his legs. He has long legs. "But a little different, the last few weeks- he's got some crazy idea in his head, he won't let go of it."
"Does it have to do with me?"
He looks over, his eerie-blue eyes glowing. "You figure in the Winter Knight's plans, yes."
"How?"
"Tell me about yourself,." he says.
--
When they drag in John Marcone, he's a mess. There's an insane glint in his eyes, and he won't go of the ring they've been trying to tear away. A small chunk of iron glints dully from where it's set.
"Dad!" Margaret stands up, appalled.
"Unhand me," says the Baron coldly. "Or face me under the Accords, you dog."
He's talking to Blackstone. Maggie looks at him, uncertain for the first time. There's something on her dad's face, beyond rage. There's hurt.
"Let him go," Blackstone says, and the white-haired man who brought John takes his hand off his shoulder, looking frigid. He bows before leaving.
There is silence in the room.
"Let me take a look at that," Blackstone says, nodding at John's bloodied hand.
"No," snarled her dad. "Maggie. What did he do to you?"
"I'm touched. I really am," Blackstone says, and his voice is genuine. Glancing at him quickly, Margaret notices that his eyes have changed color. They're dark now, like her own.
Something locks into place in her mind.
"You're-" she searches for words. "You're the Winter Knight."
"At your service," Harry Dresden says, and he sounds defeated and weary and heartsick, and he's looking at her, and then at her father, who looks like he wants to kill Dresden. "John. Come and sit down."
"How dare you," the man says angrily, but he walks forward almost instantly. "How dare you take her."
"We just had a talk," Dresden says, and folds down when John Marcone stands in front of him. "I told them to leave you alone unless you resisted," he adds, clasping his hand.
"You're insane. Insane. Why." Her dad closes his eyes as Dresden murmurs something in Latin. There's a faint blue shimmer.
"What color are my eyes?"
John Marcone stares down at them, and then glances away. "Dark brown."
"You see," Dresden said, smiling painfully.
"What's going on?" Margaret bursts out at last. "What- what the serious fuck, guys."
"Mab's watch on him," her father murmurs. "He got away. For how long... what on earth are you up to? Harry?"
"You know better than I do. You've been developing it for eight years."
John Marcone seems to grasp it instantly. "You stupid bastard," he snarls. "You can't."
"Why else would you have come up with it?" Harry Dresden says softly. "You started working on it after that Accords meeting. You saw me..."
There's an entire conversation going on in the following silence, and Maggie tries hard to understand what's going on. It's difficult.
"It was just theory. Theory and guesswork," her father whispers. "You realize- you're asking me to kill you."
"It would be better," Harry Dresden says. "You've never shirked hard decisions, John. And I'm making this one for myself. This job's for life. I'm asking you to release me from it. Just like I released the last Winter Knight."
Maggie stands there, realizing she's not in this room anymore.
John Marcone's mouth twists angrily.
Dresden touches his shoulder, and then turns back to Maggie. "So, it's true?" he says, and there's something challenging in his voice. "You raised her alone?"
Her father bares his teeth, a little, in reply.
"You stupid monogamous bastard," Harry says.
Her dad- John- makes a small, pained noise in his throat. Harry Dresden shudders for a moment, physically resisting something, before letting out a faint gasp and jerking forth to kiss him.
She has- never seen anything like it before. It takes her completely by surprise, hurts her as much as it stuns her. Harry looks about twenty five, although she knows he's about forty now, but her dad looks every one of his fifty two years. They make the strangest picture, and perhaps even a wrong one. It's wrenching, and she realizes that they must have been-
Her first is 'younger', but the second thought overtakes it, overpowers it-
They must have been so very in love.
She- cannot look away, fascinated and horrified at once- not horrified because they're gay or because her dad looks so old and tired right now, she hastily corrects herself in her own head, but because what's been done to them- Harry's wearing the most miserable expression she's ever seen on a human face as he pulls away, and John's is blank, frighteningly blank, managing to look austere even with swollen lips and glazed eyes. The nearest she's ever seen that look on his face is the one time he found her doing drugs, the first and only time for her, after she'd come home from Evelyn's party. The expression had been enough to deter her from doing anything like that again, but-
But this was even worse.
"Dresden," her dad says, his voice hoarse, and he clears his throat.
Harry looks at her, and for the first time she sees what everyone else meant- he does look like her. It's the eyes; they've lost the insane, furious shine, and now he just looks tired and sad. "She's- oh, damn her." he says, and although the words are harsh, it's the most tender thing he's ever said to her so far, and Maggie feels her face move in a smile. "You've seen worse, kid."
She wants to joke with him, she wants to get to know him and make him laugh and get that goddamn tired look off his face, but she doesn't dare. John's staring at the ground, and she takes in his silver hair and the creases at the corners of his eyes and the sag in his shoulders with new eyes. She doesn't want to wear him out, she thinks, she just wants to take their hands and beg them to run away, let's just run away, let's get out of here and get to know each other and let's see if we can make each other laugh...
Instead, she says: "Hell yeah, I've seen worse."
She has so many questions.
"It's- complicated," Harry laughs, seeing her face. She likes his eyes, meeting them across the room. "John's going to do it. He might explain it to you later."
Her dad's face is frozen in misery, and she wants to say something to him, but Harry is striding towards her, long legs eating up the distance between them in seconds, and his hands are on her shoulder. He has to bend to to look at her face. "This is hello." he says as she meets his eyes.
-
She's gibbering when she comes out of it, and her dad is shouting something at Harry Dresden, who's wearing a slightly drunken smile as he stumbles back. Maggie wipes the tears from her eyes and stares at her wet hand, uncomprehending.
"What was that? What was that?" she keeps asking, even as John Marcone takes Harry's shoulder and starts shaking him, shouting something about you inconsiderate bastard. "No, dad, it's okay, I swear- it was so beautiful-"
"So was yours," Harry says, speaking to both of them before winding his hands into John's hair and pulling him close. "So was yours, I promise."
Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 02:23 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 02:27 pm (UTC)(link)THIS IS SERIOUSLY THE BEST THING EVER
IT HURTS SO DAMN GOOD
:bows:
Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
Oh jesus christ, that hurt in so many ways. I should've seen the twist with Marcone coming, but I didn't and then it got worse and :criiiies:
Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 02:50 pm (UTC)(link)(and are you nuts Writernon? This was not terrible at all, it was fucking great. In a very heartbreaking way)
Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
You're full of wrong here, anon. This fill is really fantastic.
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(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 03:08 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 03:11 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 03:21 pm (UTC)(link)The last line! *cries*
OP Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 07:15 pm (UTC)(link)/endless fangirling/
Sorry for the incoherence. Summary: I loved it.
Re: OP Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-07 22:43 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-07 10:46 pm (UTC)(link)They must have been so very in love.
HOLY FUCK, ANON :goes off to find tissues:
Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-08 08:28 am (UTC)(link)Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-08 11:47 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-08 13:35 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) - 2011-03-08 17:24 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-09 06:11 am (UTC)(link)Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-09 06:02 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-21 01:41 am (UTC)(link)God, that was my favorite line. It hurts so much. It's a terrible terrible thing to be saying hello and goodbye all at the same time. Gods.
Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
(Anonymous) 2011-03-27 03:01 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Terrible Fill 2/2
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(Anonymous) - 2011-05-15 04:26 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Terrible Fill 2/2
Re: Terrible Fill 2/2