Fic: Vacation (5/?)
Spoilers: Definitely spoilers up to the beginning of Fool Moon, though there may be bits and pieces I've picked up from fandom that creep their ways in. I apologize for some OOC-ness and the complete fabrication of Lea's character. I know almost nothing about her, including how to spell her full name. I also don't really care, since it isn't important to the story.
Rating: this chapter is probably still PG.
Pairing: Marcone/Dresden (eventually)
Warnings: Marcone schedules around playing with kittens. What have I donnnne?
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the premise, that belongs to prompter roseinlove12.
Note: Sorry this took so long, I've been wretchedly busy ;n; Updates will get slower closer to Christmas because of all those wonderful holiday chores. I will update the links in the previous chapters tomorrow.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
Marcone was petting me. I woke up and licked his face, to his amusement. I noticed the clock and blinked. It was only seven in the morning? That meant Marcone - and I - had slept less than six hours. And he was probably worse on weekdays. Did he take vacations from being a mafia scumbag? Did he ever sleep like a human being, sawing the log for a solid eight to ten hours?
Once I started thinking about it, I got more and more concerned, and I wondered why it was bothering me. Marcone was a scumbag.
But he was the scumbag that kept Chicago’s criminal underworld from exploding into public schools, and what he’d said to me earlier, about organized crime having to exist…it was getting to me. I was losing perspective - or maybe I was finding it.
The part of my brain that sounds eerily like Bob most of the time said, “That’s what paradigm shift feels like.”
Well, when I put it like that, of course it made sense…and it meant I had to resign myself to not seeing Marcone as a bastard, not completely. I purred and rubbed his neck. I might not be his best friend or anything but...he was better than the lawless alternatives, and he didn’t seem to enjoy the mayhem. He was a manager, a damn good one, and a crook. But I couldn’t call him evil, and the black-and-white world I needed to justify a lot of what happened to me got a bit grayer.
I resented Marcone for that, but on top of the other things I resented him for already, broadening my mind was a relatively minor offense.
It was almost seven-thirty before Marcone got up and dressed casually - for him - in pressed slacks and a sweater that probably cost more than most men’s business suits. He picked me up and, sure enough, we went to his office. I had no idea how he could possibly still have paperwork, after the hours he spent on it last night…but he proved me wrong, while simultaneously giving me a chance to catch up on sleep as he stroked my head.
I don’t know what it was about being a cat that made most kinds of petting an instant sleep aid, but it had been working pretty much every time. I’d have to experiment on Mister with this.
I woke up again for lunch, which Marcone took at his desk. He fed me some of the meat from his spaghetti Bolognese, and I licked his fingers clean. Were I still human, this would be laughably romantic. I say laughably because sitting on Marcone’s lap as a human, licking his fingers clean…I mean, I’d never do that.
So yeah. It was funny because it was impossible, not because of the uncomfortable feeling, in the back of my mind, that I might like it.
I pawed at Marcone’s face and nuzzled aggressively until he stopped working on the computer to look at me.
“And what exactly is the matter with you, Hairy?” he asked, voice low and unhappy.
My eyes were wide and innocent. I mewled and practically could see him melt.
“Have I not been paying enough attention to you?” he hummed, scratching under my chin. “My apologies, Furry Overlord. I will bring you a tribute of tuna.”
Silly Marcone…sounded a lot like me. I mewled again and nuzzled his face.
“Perhaps a game of fetch would please Master Hairy?” He tickled my belly and I swatted at him, but not with my claws out. He took it for the playful gesture it was and didn’t stop. He dug the ball back out and held it in front of me. I bit it, accepting the offer of a game. Marcone pulled it from my teeth and tossed it across the room. Squirming out of his lap, I fumbled to the floor and tore after the ball. It was still bouncing when I pounced on it, so I squeezed hard with my teeth. I trotted back, satisfied that the ball was lifeless.
“I guess I won’t be playing racquetball with this one again,” he chuckled before he threw it again.
There were only very small holes in it, from my needle-sharp teeth. I guess he played racquetball with people who didn’t have pets - or didn’t try to use sports equipment for fetch.
Hendricks interrupted us with an update on my status - or, more to the point, a lack of an update.
“It’s been a few days,” Hendricks said grudgingly. “I watched the classifieds and had people keep an eye out for ‘Lost’ posters. It doesn’t look like anyone’s coming forward.”
Marcone looked thoughtful. I headbutted him in the shins, an affectionate gesture I learned from my own cat, and he hardly wobbled at all. “I’m quite aware of your presence, thank you, Hairy,” he said mildly, picking me up.
I mewled and pawed at his nose, which got me a few strokes on the head. I wish there was a way to communicate, Don’t get too attached, but meowing and thumb-less paws aren’t particularly good for charades. The yowling noises I made when I tried to explain I wasn’t going to be sticking around most likely still sounded like “cat” to him.
We played a little more, and went to watch the news on TV. Marcone attempted to catch my interest with the feathered catbait-on-a-string toy again, but I was watching the news. I hoped, later, that Marcone didn’t notice, but not much happens around Marcone that he isn’t aware of.
The anchor was saying a woman had been reported missing. Missing persons cases are some of my better business; a lot of parents and spouses tend to leave no stone unturned when it comes to hiring anyone who might possibly be able to find their loved ones. I was vaguely regretting my feline shape for yet another reason: I would be unable to help the woman until I was restored.
That was when they named the missing woman: Susan Rodriguez.
It felt like my heart had been sucked out of my chest. Susan was missing? I whined, I think. Marcone was concerned, cuddling me close, but he didn’t know Susan, did he? Well, he might have in the vague way Marcone knows everything about everyone, but the name didn’t make him pause and he certainly wouldn’t care what happened to her.
I wanted to help, to track Susan down by smell if necessary, but…I didn’t even know where to start, and I couldn’t call up the police and ask, not like this. Murphy probably wondered where the hell I was: it would look damn suspicious, if Susan went missing and I, her space-case boyfriend, was also gone. I hoped Lea would set up a decent alibi for me and I wouldn’t come back to an arrest warrant as soon as I was human again.
I hoped Susan was okay. That was the really terrifying thing, not knowing and having no hopes of finding out if she was even still alive. If I’d been human there was a simple spell I could use to track her: at the very least it would tell me if she was dead.
I couldn’t do anything, and it was killing me. I picked at dinner listlessly, curled into a ball and refused to play, and was so clearly pining that Marcone didn’t go back to work, just watched me worriedly between reading his book and petting my fur. He checked his watch, fussed, and went back to reading.
He left me on the couch and went to make a phone call. When he came back, he wasn’t much happier, but he paid a little more attention to his book.
The same vet from before arrived half an hour later. I hid under a large, squat piece of furniture, not liking where this was going.
“I don’t normally make house-calls,” the vet said defensively. Marcone glared, I could see the vet cower from under my fort. “But, ah, considering the offer you made, I am of course at your service. Ah, where exactly did the patient go?”
The vet crouched down next to my hiding spot and reached for me boldly. I crawled back from his hand and scratched at him. He swore and reached in blindly again, faster, and I bit him hard on the thumb he so foolishly pressed into my face.
Marcone shoved him out of the way. “Hairy, stop being an ass.” He beckoned with his fingers, not pressing his hand into my personal space like the vet had. I crept forward slowly. “Come here,” he said, more commanding than begging, but…he’d called a vet. He’d offered substantial money, probably, so that I could be seen here, in more comfort. I nuzzled his hand, and he led me out.
Once I was in Marcone’s hold again, he kept me still for the examination. I was a little less despondent about Susan, mostly because of all the distractions available now. Marcone didn’t let me claw the vet up anymore than I already had, though, which was a shame.
“He still seems to be in good health. He’s been fed regularly?” the vet asked.
“He went walkabout for a day or so. I’m not sure how much he ate then. But he doesn’t have any trouble eating and he gets food two or three times a day,” Marcone said, petting me again.
“Hm. He might have picked something up, if he’s just showing symptoms now. I’ll run a few blood tests; I’m not feeling anything.” He hesitated. “Have you considered the possibility he’s just…missing his owner?”
Marcone’s glare could have melted a lesser man into a pile of slag, I was sure.
“He didn’t seem upset or hurting until a few hours ago. He’s been away from his supposed owner for five days at least, now. I think I would have noticed before.”
“O-o-of course. Well, I’ll do those tests and hopefully this will be cleared up ASAP.” He edged toward the door. Marcone let him go.
“A parasite, we can eradicate; a disease, we can cure,” Marcone told me softly. “I can’t do anything for homesickness, Hairy. I don’t know where your home is. Even if I did, I’m starting to wonder if I’d return you there. Whoever had you before clearly didn’t look after you well enough, or you wouldn’t have left.”
I curled into a ball and wished I could decide what I wanted from life. I didn’t want to disappoint Marcone, didn’t want to upset him by disappearing or by becoming human again - he had taken care of me even though cats are generally thankless. I felt like I owed him something.
But I also hated that feeling, hated it so violently that I wished desperately to undo the last few days, even though the time with my thoughts and no immediate stressors had done my psyche a lot of good…and for whatever reason, petting a cat had substantially improved Marcone.
Or maybe I just saw his vulnerable nice-guy routine in private. Maybe with everyone else he was always the invincible Gentleman.
The vet called a few hours later to say I was perfectly healthy. I think he mostly called because he was afraid Marcone would glare at him again, or possibly bust his kneecaps for being unhelpful. Marcone did glare at the phone, but it’s a lot less effective when the recipient can’t see you. Marcone took me to bed and started reading again.
He fell asleep with the book on his face, I moved it off gently and put it on the nightstand with careful application of jaw. I snuggled on Marcone’s shoulder and got a sleepy stroke.
My dreams were empty that night. I didn’t like it, probably because it felt like someone had handcuffed me to a chair and tied a blindfold inexpertly. I could see the light, but not use it.
Well, I knew the dreamlessness was unnatural, but I couldn’t break it. I got very little rest as a result.
/*/*/*/
Note: Harry is coming to terms with things quickly because he literally has nothing to do except think and play fetch. If you notice, he's still crap at coming to terms with things |D
Rating: this chapter is probably still PG.
Pairing: Marcone/Dresden (eventually)
Warnings: Marcone schedules around playing with kittens. What have I donnnne?
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the premise, that belongs to prompter roseinlove12.
Note: Sorry this took so long, I've been wretchedly busy ;n; Updates will get slower closer to Christmas because of all those wonderful holiday chores. I will update the links in the previous chapters tomorrow.
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
Marcone was petting me. I woke up and licked his face, to his amusement. I noticed the clock and blinked. It was only seven in the morning? That meant Marcone - and I - had slept less than six hours. And he was probably worse on weekdays. Did he take vacations from being a mafia scumbag? Did he ever sleep like a human being, sawing the log for a solid eight to ten hours?
Once I started thinking about it, I got more and more concerned, and I wondered why it was bothering me. Marcone was a scumbag.
But he was the scumbag that kept Chicago’s criminal underworld from exploding into public schools, and what he’d said to me earlier, about organized crime having to exist…it was getting to me. I was losing perspective - or maybe I was finding it.
The part of my brain that sounds eerily like Bob most of the time said, “That’s what paradigm shift feels like.”
Well, when I put it like that, of course it made sense…and it meant I had to resign myself to not seeing Marcone as a bastard, not completely. I purred and rubbed his neck. I might not be his best friend or anything but...he was better than the lawless alternatives, and he didn’t seem to enjoy the mayhem. He was a manager, a damn good one, and a crook. But I couldn’t call him evil, and the black-and-white world I needed to justify a lot of what happened to me got a bit grayer.
I resented Marcone for that, but on top of the other things I resented him for already, broadening my mind was a relatively minor offense.
It was almost seven-thirty before Marcone got up and dressed casually - for him - in pressed slacks and a sweater that probably cost more than most men’s business suits. He picked me up and, sure enough, we went to his office. I had no idea how he could possibly still have paperwork, after the hours he spent on it last night…but he proved me wrong, while simultaneously giving me a chance to catch up on sleep as he stroked my head.
I don’t know what it was about being a cat that made most kinds of petting an instant sleep aid, but it had been working pretty much every time. I’d have to experiment on Mister with this.
I woke up again for lunch, which Marcone took at his desk. He fed me some of the meat from his spaghetti Bolognese, and I licked his fingers clean. Were I still human, this would be laughably romantic. I say laughably because sitting on Marcone’s lap as a human, licking his fingers clean…I mean, I’d never do that.
So yeah. It was funny because it was impossible, not because of the uncomfortable feeling, in the back of my mind, that I might like it.
I pawed at Marcone’s face and nuzzled aggressively until he stopped working on the computer to look at me.
“And what exactly is the matter with you, Hairy?” he asked, voice low and unhappy.
My eyes were wide and innocent. I mewled and practically could see him melt.
“Have I not been paying enough attention to you?” he hummed, scratching under my chin. “My apologies, Furry Overlord. I will bring you a tribute of tuna.”
Silly Marcone…sounded a lot like me. I mewled again and nuzzled his face.
“Perhaps a game of fetch would please Master Hairy?” He tickled my belly and I swatted at him, but not with my claws out. He took it for the playful gesture it was and didn’t stop. He dug the ball back out and held it in front of me. I bit it, accepting the offer of a game. Marcone pulled it from my teeth and tossed it across the room. Squirming out of his lap, I fumbled to the floor and tore after the ball. It was still bouncing when I pounced on it, so I squeezed hard with my teeth. I trotted back, satisfied that the ball was lifeless.
“I guess I won’t be playing racquetball with this one again,” he chuckled before he threw it again.
There were only very small holes in it, from my needle-sharp teeth. I guess he played racquetball with people who didn’t have pets - or didn’t try to use sports equipment for fetch.
Hendricks interrupted us with an update on my status - or, more to the point, a lack of an update.
“It’s been a few days,” Hendricks said grudgingly. “I watched the classifieds and had people keep an eye out for ‘Lost’ posters. It doesn’t look like anyone’s coming forward.”
Marcone looked thoughtful. I headbutted him in the shins, an affectionate gesture I learned from my own cat, and he hardly wobbled at all. “I’m quite aware of your presence, thank you, Hairy,” he said mildly, picking me up.
I mewled and pawed at his nose, which got me a few strokes on the head. I wish there was a way to communicate, Don’t get too attached, but meowing and thumb-less paws aren’t particularly good for charades. The yowling noises I made when I tried to explain I wasn’t going to be sticking around most likely still sounded like “cat” to him.
We played a little more, and went to watch the news on TV. Marcone attempted to catch my interest with the feathered catbait-on-a-string toy again, but I was watching the news. I hoped, later, that Marcone didn’t notice, but not much happens around Marcone that he isn’t aware of.
The anchor was saying a woman had been reported missing. Missing persons cases are some of my better business; a lot of parents and spouses tend to leave no stone unturned when it comes to hiring anyone who might possibly be able to find their loved ones. I was vaguely regretting my feline shape for yet another reason: I would be unable to help the woman until I was restored.
That was when they named the missing woman: Susan Rodriguez.
It felt like my heart had been sucked out of my chest. Susan was missing? I whined, I think. Marcone was concerned, cuddling me close, but he didn’t know Susan, did he? Well, he might have in the vague way Marcone knows everything about everyone, but the name didn’t make him pause and he certainly wouldn’t care what happened to her.
I wanted to help, to track Susan down by smell if necessary, but…I didn’t even know where to start, and I couldn’t call up the police and ask, not like this. Murphy probably wondered where the hell I was: it would look damn suspicious, if Susan went missing and I, her space-case boyfriend, was also gone. I hoped Lea would set up a decent alibi for me and I wouldn’t come back to an arrest warrant as soon as I was human again.
I hoped Susan was okay. That was the really terrifying thing, not knowing and having no hopes of finding out if she was even still alive. If I’d been human there was a simple spell I could use to track her: at the very least it would tell me if she was dead.
I couldn’t do anything, and it was killing me. I picked at dinner listlessly, curled into a ball and refused to play, and was so clearly pining that Marcone didn’t go back to work, just watched me worriedly between reading his book and petting my fur. He checked his watch, fussed, and went back to reading.
He left me on the couch and went to make a phone call. When he came back, he wasn’t much happier, but he paid a little more attention to his book.
The same vet from before arrived half an hour later. I hid under a large, squat piece of furniture, not liking where this was going.
“I don’t normally make house-calls,” the vet said defensively. Marcone glared, I could see the vet cower from under my fort. “But, ah, considering the offer you made, I am of course at your service. Ah, where exactly did the patient go?”
The vet crouched down next to my hiding spot and reached for me boldly. I crawled back from his hand and scratched at him. He swore and reached in blindly again, faster, and I bit him hard on the thumb he so foolishly pressed into my face.
Marcone shoved him out of the way. “Hairy, stop being an ass.” He beckoned with his fingers, not pressing his hand into my personal space like the vet had. I crept forward slowly. “Come here,” he said, more commanding than begging, but…he’d called a vet. He’d offered substantial money, probably, so that I could be seen here, in more comfort. I nuzzled his hand, and he led me out.
Once I was in Marcone’s hold again, he kept me still for the examination. I was a little less despondent about Susan, mostly because of all the distractions available now. Marcone didn’t let me claw the vet up anymore than I already had, though, which was a shame.
“He still seems to be in good health. He’s been fed regularly?” the vet asked.
“He went walkabout for a day or so. I’m not sure how much he ate then. But he doesn’t have any trouble eating and he gets food two or three times a day,” Marcone said, petting me again.
“Hm. He might have picked something up, if he’s just showing symptoms now. I’ll run a few blood tests; I’m not feeling anything.” He hesitated. “Have you considered the possibility he’s just…missing his owner?”
Marcone’s glare could have melted a lesser man into a pile of slag, I was sure.
“He didn’t seem upset or hurting until a few hours ago. He’s been away from his supposed owner for five days at least, now. I think I would have noticed before.”
“O-o-of course. Well, I’ll do those tests and hopefully this will be cleared up ASAP.” He edged toward the door. Marcone let him go.
“A parasite, we can eradicate; a disease, we can cure,” Marcone told me softly. “I can’t do anything for homesickness, Hairy. I don’t know where your home is. Even if I did, I’m starting to wonder if I’d return you there. Whoever had you before clearly didn’t look after you well enough, or you wouldn’t have left.”
I curled into a ball and wished I could decide what I wanted from life. I didn’t want to disappoint Marcone, didn’t want to upset him by disappearing or by becoming human again - he had taken care of me even though cats are generally thankless. I felt like I owed him something.
But I also hated that feeling, hated it so violently that I wished desperately to undo the last few days, even though the time with my thoughts and no immediate stressors had done my psyche a lot of good…and for whatever reason, petting a cat had substantially improved Marcone.
Or maybe I just saw his vulnerable nice-guy routine in private. Maybe with everyone else he was always the invincible Gentleman.
The vet called a few hours later to say I was perfectly healthy. I think he mostly called because he was afraid Marcone would glare at him again, or possibly bust his kneecaps for being unhelpful. Marcone did glare at the phone, but it’s a lot less effective when the recipient can’t see you. Marcone took me to bed and started reading again.
He fell asleep with the book on his face, I moved it off gently and put it on the nightstand with careful application of jaw. I snuggled on Marcone’s shoulder and got a sleepy stroke.
My dreams were empty that night. I didn’t like it, probably because it felt like someone had handcuffed me to a chair and tied a blindfold inexpertly. I could see the light, but not use it.
Well, I knew the dreamlessness was unnatural, but I couldn’t break it. I got very little rest as a result.
/*/*/*/
Note: Harry is coming to terms with things quickly because he literally has nothing to do except think and play fetch. If you notice, he's still crap at coming to terms with things |D