[Fanfic] Dresden Files: What we can afford

[ghostofthemotif]

Title: What we can afford
Characters/Pairings: Marcone, Ivy
Rating: PG
Summary: Post Small Favor. Some friendships come easily, even if they're rooted in horrifying circumstances.
Author's Note: De-anon from the kink meme.

For several weeks after the ordeal on the island, the lights of Chicago’s nights reflected in the windows of his office and took the shape of spellwork etched into stone if he looked up too quickly. It was a wisp of memory that was easy enough for him to dispel after years spent honing that particular skill. The thoughts of the girl that churned to the surface in its wake, however, were much more difficult and far too close to another scene he’d never quite managed (never, in what constituted good conscience, even tried) to bury. He’d considered several times using his resources to find her, but he remembered very clearly that she’d asked him not to. It was laughable really, how all the power at his fingertips could be deflected by the request of a child, in the interest of that child’s safety.

In the end, that hadn’t really mattered. She’d found him, sitting at a small table of a café as he exited a building to its left.

(“Mr. Marcone.”

“Ms. Ivy.”

A smile as she handed him a cup of something cold and sweet.

He drank it and tried to remember the last time he’d accepted a drink and hadn’t had even a passing thought as to what may be hidden in the contents.)

Finding her waiting outside of his buildings became a frequent occurrence, a presence that was never assumed but never a surprise. He cautioned her about the danger of observable association with him, but she just narrowed her eyes a little, and he reminded himself of the power the girl possessed. That, and there was a bodyguard with a lazy smile blending into the scenery with predatory and practiced ease, eyes occasionally catching on the baron’s with an utter absence of fear. That specific quality of the man’s face was… an annoyance, but one he could overlook with good grace. The point was that the man provided no more interference in their exchanges than Hendricks did, and it was never wise to spurn added protection when it cost nothing.

Their meetings were never planned, at least not on his part. Then he realized that by her nature she must know the contents of his dayplanner and choose their encounters accordingly.

(“I try to pick days where your meetings look particularly dull.”

“That must be a difficult choice.”

“Maybe you should come up with a code so I’ll know which ones are the worst.”

“I fear I’d simply indicate all of them.”)

She took the seat beside him at the first Accords meeting following their shared tribulation, and he noticed that she’d brought nothing to take notes with. He supposed she didn’t need to. Perhaps, he reasoned, she would if there was an idea she felt she could extrapolate upon, but it appeared she didn’t think she’d find such a topic with present company. It was rather gratifying to know that his particular brand of humor was being enjoyed when her shoulders scrunched, head bowed in what was obviously a suppressed laugh whenever he found his vernacular tending towards sarcastic venom in the side-margins of the reports.

(“Yes, you keep impeccable notes, except for where you doodled Mr. Hendricks hitting Harry with a shovel.”

“It was pertinent to the discussion, I assure you. Anyone in that room would agree with me.”

She laughed. It made the lighthouse crumble a few slipped stones at a time in his memory.)

Kincaid once told him that he’d probably buy her a state if she hinted she might one day want to visit it, said the child had him tied up in ways men of his profession couldn’t afford. Marcone disagreed about the part regarding purchasing a state; he could do better.