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h-cat, hidden-longings

hidden_longings in mafiabanter


Title:  Overcome (3/?)

Rating: NC-17

Warning: violence (lots of it), torture, cursing, and possibly some sexual content in later chapters.

Relationships: Harry Dresden/John Marcone

Characters: Harry Dresden, John Marcone, Hendricks, Thomas Raith, Kincaid, Murphy, Johnson (OMC)

Summary: When enemies from Harry’s past attack John, it pushes him over the edge.  Harry’s had enough of pretending to be anything other than what he is and, Court or Council, someone is going to pay.

Part of my Dresden AU Series.  This story comes after Monsters.


John could hear the steady beeping that meant he was in the hospital as though he had an ear pressed to a thick door.  There was a fog surrounding his mind, making it hard to think. 

When he finally thought about moving it became clear that it was impossible.  Fighting hard John tried to open his eyes; failed.  No matter how hard he tried nothing worked.  His muscles were held in place by thick layers of air.

Why was he here?

Suddenly somebody wrapped a hand gently around his chin, and if he could have John would have startled badly.  He could feel somebody open his eyes, but everything remained black. 

This stranger studied his body quickly.  A nurse?  Everything was quiet except for the machinery that surrounded him when a familiar voice sliced through the fog shrilly. 

“Is he going to wake-up?”

Lieutenant Murphy.  John fought again to pull his body out of the morass of drugs and bamboozled brain.  Failed. 

“We have no way of knowing until the swelling goes down.”

“Can he hear us?”

“I doubt it.  The combination of the blow to the head plus the drugs we have him on are probably keeping him completely under.”

John gave a mental snort of disdain, much she knew.  A blow to the head explained why he couldn’t remember what had happened.  The last thing he remembered was leaving the meeting with Hendricks.

Suddenly an alarm blared through the halls of the hospital and the nurse bolted from the room.  Leaving Marcone alone with Murphy.

Plastic creaked, and Marcone pictured Murphy slipping into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs that were usually by hospital beds.

Where was Harry?

Murphy broke the silence with a rough chuckle.

“So here we are.  I could kill you here and now and they’d all think that you’d just succumbed to the blow to the head.”

“Lieutenant Murphy!”

The new voice was a stranger’s.  Pitched low but with a slight quaver, he made the two words sound like a condemnation.

“I thought I told you to leave.”

“Screw you Johnson!  I’ve had to deal with these two monsters for the past six years.  Things have only gotten worse now that they’ve teamed up and started fucking each other.”

“You obviously don’t have the emotional distance you’d need to participate in this case.  Right here and now, Marcone is the victim.”

Murphy snorted rudely.

“And!” continued Johnson doggedly.  “He should be treated as such.”

“Whoever did this,” Murphy snarled.  “Did us a favor!  We’d never be able to stick it to Marcone in court.  He’s too much of a snake oil salesman to ever get caught in his own shit.  But now he’s finally pushed somebody too far and they sent their dogs after him.  More power to them!”

Johnson’s voice had lost its reedy quaver and was quickly turning into a reasonable facsimile of a threatening snarl. 

“Not half an hour ago you were berating me about Dresden.  Telling me that I should look closely into what he’s been up to.  Telling me that if anybody would stoop to attack Marcone it would be Dresden.  What the hell’s changed?”

Plastic creaked again, before clattering to the ground as Murphy apparently launched herself out of her seat.

“Everybody wants to kill these guys.  There are a hundred possibilities!”

“Yourself included,” Johnson said harshly, “and if you don’t want to end up without a badge and behind bars you’d best do some serious thinking about continuing to interfere in this investigation.”

“You both need to leave. At the volume you’re screaming it wouldn’t matter if Mr. Marcone was dead, you’d still wake him!” 

The nurse’s voice was back.  Whatever emergency had flung her away had apparently been sorted out. 

As three pairs of feet slapped out of the room on the linoleum floors Marcone let himself slip back into the drugged slumber that had been trying to drag him back to unconsciousness for a little while.


Hendricks had been more than willing to wait in the small room. He had a direct line of sight to the door that led into Marcone’s hospital room through a glass window that he could break easily. 

He might have been skimming over Nietzsche but he’d read the book enough times that he had only a small portion of his attention focused on it.

When he saw Murphy go through the door and enter Marcone’s room he pulled himself to his feet and shuffled over towards her.  If she wanted to start something he’d seriously contemplate throwing her out the fifth story window. 

The nurse left in a rush as a sudden Code Blue sounded throughout the ICU and Hendricks reached towards the door handle.

But he didn’t have a chance to go through the door before Agent Johnson waved him back like he was a recalcitrant toddler. 

Hendricks had to restrain the snarl that wanted to erupt on his face.  They argued briefly and heatedly and when the nurse finally returned, Hendricks’ head was lowered like a battering ram and he was ready to charge the door if he had to.

This time it was the nurse that waved him away, although her gesture lacked the condescension that Agent Johnson’s finger flick had held.

Humiliation burned through Hendricks.  The only reason Marcone was alive.  Hell the only reason he was alive was because of Dresden’s sudden arrival at the scene of the crime.  The assault had been so unexpected that he hadn’t had the chance to think through what had happened.

Marcone had been hurt, on his watch.  The anger that had blurred his vision and made his hands turn into frozen locks on his gun had died enough that he could remember what had happened more clearly.

The red and white colors that hadn’t made any sense had to be the Red Court and the White Council.  It had been years since Hendricks’ had heard about either of them and the half-heard whisper from the small fairy had failed to jog his memory.

He hadn’t known what the Red Court vampires looked like.  But he was quite sure that Marcone and Dresden had both said that the main group that used to reside in Chicago worked as expensive prostitutes. 

Hendricks hoped that the magic that the Red Courts used to hide their true forms was good enough that they didn’t have to use some kind of Mind-fu to keep their clients happy. 

The black bat-like creatures had been far from what he had expected, although it was nice to know that sometimes monsters looked like monsters and not like everybody else. 

Still he’d been sure that Harry had run those assholes clear out of the state.  The White Council had been gone even longer than that, blackmailed and thrashed into submission by Dresden’s forces.


When Harry flung the beaker against the wall he watched it shatter with vicious satisfaction.  He’d been desperately trying to finagle a potion into existence that even Bob had only heard rumors about. 

Five hours of fruitless labor had frayed his already tenuous control to the breaking point.  At this point, Harry wanted to go find Murphy so that she could say something derogatory about his relationship with Marcone, if only so he could turn her into ash.

“Harry.”  Bob’s voice was filled with resigned reproach.

“I got rid of them Bob.  I told them to pack their fucking bags and to get the hell out of my city.”  Snarled Harry. “And what do they do?  They go to the fucking White Council and join forces with people they’d just as soon eat as look at.”

“Harry, this isn’t your fault.”

“It is.  I knew I was being too soft.  I should have killed them all.”

“The decision to keep the White Council alive had nothing to do with softness and everything to do with practicality.  You know as well as I that if you had killed the entire ruling council that we would have had a world war on our hands.  You might have come out on top, but it was too big of a risk.  You still need to strengthen your powerbase.”

Harry snarled and began to pace, “Shows what you know, we’re months away from gaining control of Illinois, I expect I’ll have America in the next five years or so.  Why couldn’t they have just stayed the hell away from this continent?”

“Because,” Bob said quietly, “they’re a gaggle of old men who haven’t been successfully challenged in decades.  When you stood up to them, and succeeded, they had their egotistical little minds blown.”

Harry dropped into a nearby chair and put his face into his hands while he desperately tried to scrub his eyes hard enough to force back the tears of frustration that were starting to appear.  Pulling himself back together again Harry cleared his throat and changed the subject.

“This is pointless.  Where’s the original recipe for this potion?”

“In a Grimoire.”  Bob said easily shifting to the new train of thought.  “Last I heard a member of the White Council had it unfortunately.”

Harry’s sudden smile was thin and needle sharp.

“Which member?”

Part 1  Part 2  Part 4


god I love this series so very much, and I love your take on it too!!

Awesome chapter, I really cant wait for more!
Thanks so much. :) It might be a little while before the next chapter, what with finals coming up, but I'll see what I can do.
Real life trumps fanfic. Get done with finals and term papers, and then write the fanfic as a reward to yourself.
Heh heh - wouldn't want to be that member!
Excellent chapter. :-)
I love this. It's awesome and you totally get the feeling he's about to have a lot of fun torturing some old man for the book he wants. Go Harry, stick it to them!