I don't own the Dresden Files, or I Crush Everything.


I crush everything.

I'm sitting at my desk, a glass of one hundred and fifty year old scotch in my hand. The bottle is half empty, already. I was saving it for a special occasion. Today seems to fit.

I crush everything.

"You're scum, Marcone. Evil, criminal scum!"

It shouldn't have hurt that much.

He's called me scum before. A criminal.

I'm not evil. I'm not.

I crush everything.


He didn't see this city under Vargassi. People dying needlessly. Children. Tainted drugs. Prostitution slave trade.

I've made it better. I've become what I had to, to save the city I love.

I crush everything.

This is why it could never work. He uses me when he needs to, and the rest of the time, I'm nothing.

I lie below, he floats above. Damn his moral code. It's not like I don't have morals too. But I'm willing to do what's necessary to save everyone.

I've tried to be brave enough to take him into my arms. I'd like to walk beside him, getting close enough to touch.

And my people, they're all phonies. They pretend to be my friends, until they see who I really am. And then they leave. And I'm alone.

Everything I want, I take. Everything I love, I break.

Every night, I lie awake.

But I crush everything. Everything I love. Maybe I am better off alone.


There's a knock at my door, and he bursts in, pushing past my assistant.

"I'm sorry, Mr Marcone. He just shoved his way in!"

"That's alright, Darla." I wave a hand, and she correctly interprets the gesture and leaves us alone. "What do you want, Mr Dresden? I am rather busy."

I am, in fact, not busy at all. I just want to drink my scotch in peace.

"John." I hate what him calling me that does to me. "Come for a beer."

"Excuse me?" He can't actually be asking me out. He's far too oblivious. Besides, he hates me.

"Come for a beer. Mac's is the best around. And I figure, after a day like today..."

Ah, yes. Today was pretty terrible. I've still got blood on my hands. But he can't actually want to drink with me.

"Mr Dresden-"

"Harry."

That throws me. He hates me calling him Harry. I look at him, really look and see how tired and hurt and desperate for something that isn't violence. I wonder if he went to Karrin Murphy first.

Then I get it. Really get it.

This isn't Free-Holding Baron Marcone, or 'Gentleman' Johnny Marcone, and Wizard or Warden Dresden. This is John and Harry.

"I would be delighted to have a drink with you, Harry."

Maybe he doesn't think I'm completely evil.


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