It was Tuesday, and I was going to Graceland Cemetery. I've been frequenting the place quite often, recently, always early in the day, before many people are awake and capable of noting the visits. Getting predictable is dangerous, in my line of work, deadly, really. I fingered the cloth in my pocket, and took a deep breath. I was tired. The past six months had aged me exponentially, partly because of the Fomor, partly because of the extra time I'd been spending attempting to keep His friends safe, and partly because I was still grieving. I sighed. Hell, when was I not grieving for Him anymore? I wasn't even supposed to be back home yet; Murphy and the rest thought I was still in Italy going on a wild damned goose chase for the Holy Grail. I'd had to come back because I'd been unable to stay away from this place, this grave, this name, no matter my duties or my wishes. I wished I'd been able to find it, because that would've meant there was still hope, but it was lost. I had failed. Maybe more so than I could even imagine yet. The car pulled up to a familiar gate, familiar snow that shouldn't have been here this late in the year. I recalled Mab, and felt dull rage build in my chest. If not for her… if not for her… I wasn't quite sure. I just knew that without her things would be different; perhaps He would still be alive. Perhaps I wouldn't be feeling like this. I climbed out, and my driver left. He'd be back in an hour, I supposed, but no one else desired to see my anger upon being interrupted whilst I was in this place, after the last time that I'd… I supposed blown up would be the proper term.

I walked to the grave slowly, made each footstep purposeful. The grave gaped open as always, as if waiting to swallow Him up into the earth and never let Him go. I wondered how long ago it had been, that I'd lost the ability to even think His name, much less say it out loud. My eyes burned, and I finally reached the open grave. I crouched beside it, the snow cold against my knees and calves, quickly soaking through my slacks to freeze my skin. I clenched my hands in the fabric at my thighs, and pulled the cloth from my pocket. Ritualistically, I began to wipe the front of the stone clear of the daily grime that always seemed to build on it, paying special attention to the tiny golden pentacle. It always reminded me of Him, really; it was His symbol, always, no matter how many other people I saw wearing it. It represented Him in ways it couldn't ever do for anyone else. I still wondered where His own pentacle amulet had ended up upon His passing; I assumed he'd been wearing it when He died. It was probably still on His body, wherever His body was. I had the sudden, almost sickening image of a browned skeleton, too long, with the dull gleam of tarnished silver around its neck. I coughed to hide a choke that couldn't have been a sob. I finished my work and tucked the cloth away.

"Why? I realize I always ask this, but you've yet to answer me, you know. I simply… why did you leave us? Why now? We need you. Ineed you. Things are not… god. Things are not well here. Hell, do you see what you've reduced me to? I can hardly speak clearly, now. I'm tired. So, so tired. I knew from the moment I met you that you'd change things for me, you know. Not to this degree, of course, but I knew you'd be important. Damn. You truly must be quite tired of listening to this prattle, wherever you are. It isn't as though I ever tell you anything different, and these concerns are probably beyond you now, aren't they? You've eternal paradise to enjoy, now, don't you? I certainly hope so. You, of all people, deserve it." I paused to gather myself, because my voice had begun to shake.

"They were calling you a criminal, in the papers, saying you'd bombed your apartment and your office because you couldn't pay for them. I… I took care of that for you. I didn't kill anyone, certainly; you'd be upset with me for that. Of course, you'd likely be upset with me for paying the media off as I did as well, but it's better, isn't it? I hope that I'm still the man you remember, you know. I hope that you wouldn't hate the man I am now. I hope I haven't become someone you'd not consider working with, someone you'd call evil. I've been looking after your friends for you, and I've done more work on that Paranet of yours. It was a very good idea, by the way, something I'd have liked to have done myself, had I the connections you once did. It's working well, now, however. It's saved a lot of lives already." My hands shook suddenly and violently. I didn't bother trying to hide it; He, of all people, deserved to see some of the weakness in me.

"I wish you were still here. I wish I could still see you. I wish… I wish you were here to hit me, now, for saying all of this. It's foolish of me, I know. I apologize for that. I've not gotten to the part I'm sure you hate most though, not yet. It's still true, though. It is. I cannot get over it. I cannot get over you. I cannot forget. Damn it, I cannot even say your name anymore without wanting to cry like a child! You've made me weak. I say again, I expected things to change when I met you. I expected a lot. I did not expect this. I did not expect that you'd die and leave me. I did not expect that you'd be such a stubborn, oblivious idiot who couldn't see the nose on his face if someone gave him a map to it, but who could crack a case twenty years old if he turned his head and looked at it sideways for five goddamned minutes. I did not expect that I'd fall in love with you. I wish you'd warned me that people in your association have a habit of doing that, of either loving you or wanting to kill you or both. Such a bother. Bad for business, as well, but I suppose that's your motto, isn't it? Everything you did was bad for business, but you'd not be yourself if you were any different. My, wasn't that a redundant statement? Well. I've little else to say, but I'll sit here a while, of course. I don't even know if you're really here, not really, but this is all I have. It's something, and I'll take it. You'd best not ruin it for me." I closed my eyes and leaned forward as if I was praying, but I hadn't done that in quite some time.

Instead, I was simply thinking. If I did this in this place, it felt as if I could remember everything about Him, every detail of His face, His voice, His smile. All of it. My breath was wet and shuddering. And then I felt it. Something cold, a breeze that blew in the opposite direction of the wind. I gasped. It… no. It couldn't be. I whispered His name for the first time in six months, and it felt strange and heavy and far, far too important on my tongue.

Harry's POV

I had been hiding from the sun and lazing, when I felt a presence at the rim of my grave. Huh. That was sort of weird; I knew I'd only been in here for a couple of hours, but still. It hadn't really sounded like there were a boatload of people paying respects to me. I couldn't imagine it was anything good, honestly, so I peeked my head out just slightly (and you would never guess how hot the sun could be when you don't have skin or nerves or anything), and saw someone cleaning my headstone carefully. I did not expect that particular someone to be hanging out at my grave, and certainly wouldn't expect him to be cleaning it; John Marcone just didn't pull that kind of shit. It was, in his own vernacular, bad for business. I figured he was doing it as a favor for someone else, to tell the truth. At least I did until he started talking.

I've never heard him sound so… so… not in control as he did then. I was used to him sounding like a man accustomed to being obeyed without question, to having his words be seen as law. Just then he sounded like a lost child with no idea where he was supposed to be and his hand trapped in a cookie jar. He sounded like he actually missed me. He sounded… like he said, he sounded tired. Older. I didn't like it. I'd never really thought about how much of a constant Marcone was until he just… until he sounded like that, until I saw him vulnerable. Times like these reminded me that he really was a mortal, no matter how much he liked to pretend otherwise. For the millionth time I wished that I could actually make people realize I was there, because for some reason, I wanted to comfort the bastard.

Then he started talking about loving me, and if my heart had been beating, it would've stopped then. It was at these words his voice started to waver and shake, and I saw tears he didn't even seem to notice building at the corners of his eyes. Hey, hadn't Murphy said he was in Rome or something? What was he doing here? I felt my own eyes begin to burn and wondered why as uncontrollable memories of Marcone began to flash behind my eyes. His face when he'd pulled me from the river with the Shroud of Turin, wild eyed and twisted with fear. Had he really looked like that? I remembered him as being far more indifferent, that time, with maybe a little annoyance at me for wasting his time and risking his prize. Another memory, this time of our first meeting. That one, I remembered him looking indifferent, with a bored father's smile falsely painting his lips. This memory showed something strange in his eyes, an almost hunger I'd only seen from a few people in my life, and I recognized it as attraction, as interest. Then I saw him with Amanda, and it wasn't distrust of me on his face, no, it wasn't a threat; he hadn't wanted me to see him weak, not then, he hadn't wanted me to see the source of his guilt. He'd… he'd been afraid that I'd blame him for it too, that I'd hate him if I ever found out the truth. Once more I was reminded that I wasn't really alive, that I was just memory, that everything felt so much stronger like this, that I could cry.

I stretched my hand from the safety of my grave and managed to brush it across his leg before the sun forced me to huddle back inside the earth. My name, when it fell from his lips, sounded like the holiest of words, like a prayer, and I realized suddenly that through all of this, he hadn't said my name before now. I had a sudden thought; what if he was one of the ones that would be hurt if I didn't find my killer? It was obvious that he wasn't at his best, and hadn't been for a while. Deep, dark circles marred the area beneath his eyes, and his face was a little sallow, a little sunken. I was pretty sure that he actually looked his age for the first time in his life, just then. I licked my lips as if it would do anything, and thought hard. Marcone was important to me, I realized, an ally. Maybe more than that.

Had he ever really done anything to me? Oh, yeah, he'd threatened, sure, and I knew he probably had twenty million contingency plans in place just for me, but he'd never done anything. He'd always helped me, even though he'd had plenty of opportunities to take me out. He was… a friend. Yeah. I could call him that, now, because things stop looking so black and white when you're dead. There aren't always just good guys and bad guys. Marcone was one of those types of people that straddled the line and smudged it beyond legibility. I laughed a little. The him loving me thing would maybe take a little getting used to, though. There weren't all that many women around who claimed to love me, and I could hardly deal with them. Having a smitten mob boss, a male one at that, would be sort of weird. I managed to stretch out and touch him one more time before he stumbled almost drunkenly to his feet.

"Harry. My god. You're here. You're here. Christ. Gard… Gard will give me something that will allow me to see you. Remain here, please. Please. I'll… I'll return shortly." And then he left, and I was alone. I stared out after him. My grave didn't seem so peaceful anymore, so calming. I curled back down against the tightly packed earthen wall again, trying for that peace I'd had before John arrived. John? Huh. That sounds weird, when I'm not saying it to piss him off. I tried to think of a time when calling him by his first name actually had legitimately pissed him off, beyond him being upset that I wouldn't let him take the same informality with my own name, and couldn't think of a time. Then why did I keep doing it? I wondered how long my own damned memories had known that I liked the asshole, and how long they'd decided to keep it from the rest of me. Revelations like this are annoying, and surprisingly common when you don't have any bias to pollute what you remember. I don't like it. My eyes fluttered shut as the sun climbed higher in the sky, up towards its highest point.

To be honest, I was getting a little impatient for John (yeah, I'm calling him that now; he's a friend, and I'm allowed to call my friends by their first names) to come back because I'd at least get to talk to him, probably, if Gard really did have something he could use to see me. That's sort of why I was so eager when I sensed a presence at the edge of my grave. When I poked my head out, though, it wasn't John; it was Inez, the most famous ghost of Graceland cemetery.

Her dress was classically pretty, designed as some kind of Victorian thing, although I couldn't honestly tell if it was an original or a revival, and her face was doll-like, with wide, glassy blue eyes. I could imagine that she'd have been exceedingly pretty, if she grew up, but that wasn't a possibility anymore, not for her. A sharp pang stabbed through my heart as I recalled my own little girl, a girl with Susan's dark skin, Susan's hair, but my eyes. I swallowed the lump in my throat as best I could.

"You're new," she said, her voice high and cherubic, but there was a note of something jaded and cold underneath. It reminded me a little of Ivy, and that made me shudder.

"Yeah. I'm not very good at this ghosting business yet either. Think I should find a nice castle to haunt?" She laughed softly, and clicked her little parasol against the toe of her shiny black shoe.

"Perhaps you'd be better off. Monsters are said to stalk the halls of castles, correct?" I reeled back. Monsters? What was she talking about?

"I'm not a monster, kid. Monsters hurt people. I'm one of the good guys." Or at least I'd thought. I'd always thought that. Maybe I wasn't right. I'd crossed a lot of lines, in my last weeks. I'd done a lot of things that I was ashamed of, and the worst part was, I'd do it all again, and I knew I would, if it meant saving Maggie. The little girl smiled and sat down in the earth, swinging her little legs over the edge of my grave and letting them sway back and forth.

"Is it true?" I cocked my head.

"What?"

"What it says on your grave. Did you die doing the right thing?" I heard footsteps coming and suddenly didn't want to talk anymore, because that would be John. He was pretty far away, though; I could only just make out that he was calling my name. I had to continue speaking to the girl. I had to tell the truth.

"No. I… no. I didn't I died doing a lot of wrong things. I broke a lot of rules. A lot. I messed up. I shouldn't have done what I did, crossed the lines I crossed, but I felt like I had to. I'd do it all again, too, if it meant I was able to save who I saved." She smiled.

"Good intentions…" her voice trailed off."

"Pave the pathway to hell, I know."

"I like you," she giggled, "I really do. It'll almost be sad, when you change. Of course, maybe you won't change." She dropped down into the grave beside me on light feet and pulled me down to my knees, to her level, and she was preternaturally strong. I felt the sharp sting of fear cut through me as John's footsteps stopped on the grave's edge. I felt his eyes burning into me as Inez continued, "Because maybe you're already a monster." I felt myself start crying again because maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe I had become something I'd hate, a monster, for what I'd done. I had made a deal with Winter. I had created a power vacuum that could destroy Chicago, the world. I had killed without thought, without care, killed people who maybe didn't even deserve it, Thralls of the Red Court, and it hadn't mattered, and I'd do it again, and it wasn't… I was… I… my thoughts were cut off by a sharp voice.

"Get away from him and cease your blathering. The only monster I see there is you." John. He was defending me. Inez grinned with all her teeth.

"A mortal?" she turned to look at him, and then some type of understanding filled her face. "A mortal with powerful friends. This shade is important to you? I wonder why. There are far more interesting ones running about, by their graves. This one won't last long anyway. Too much substance to it, too much pain, too many memories. The wraiths, as well as the lemurs, will be quite drawn to it. Were I of a different, crueler nature, I should like to consume him myself. He'd offer quite a power boost to whoever finally gets him. The shades of wizards never last long, but I feel this one will have a shorter lifespan than most. Still. I suppose if this is where you wish to be, I'll leave you alone." And then she left. I stumbled to my feet, and John held out a hand to me for some reason.

"Come on. Come out of there," he said, his voice gentle, as if he were coaxing some kind of animal. I managed to laugh.

"John, I'm a ghost. Even if I could actually grab your hand, which I can't, I couldn't leave the grave. The sun would fry me." He paused, and then shook his head for a moment.

"It's true, then. That you're a ghost. I'd been hoping that this was some sort of a trick, that your current state was a bit less… permanent." I shrugged, and gestured that he could climb into the grave with me, if he wanted. He did so, carefully, and then sat in the dirt. I sat across from him.

"Well, it's pretty new to me too. I only just found out it's been six months. It still feels like yesterday to me, when I died, but apparently it's pretty common for shades to just kind of drift around in the ether for a while. I got special treatment, though, because apparently my death had some funny business surrounding it. I got sent back to find my killer. I've got no idea what I'm supposed to do after that, though." John swallowed.

"Perhaps stay? I'd… it's selfish of me, but I don't want you gone." I smiled, and he went tense for a second, before he went totally limp.

"There's a difference between dead and Gone, John. A big one. You know, though, you're the first one who believed right off the bat that I'm really the shade of Harry Dresden." His smile was small and tight.

"Admittedly, I've been fooled by imposters as well, but you… it all feels the same. I trust that you are him." I shrugged.

"Nah. A shade isn't the same thing as the person it came from. I'm just memories, right now, and because of the memories, I've got the same personality. The body and the soul are somewhere else, so I'm not technically Harry Dresden."

"You are, or at the least, you're enough. God, Harry. I missed you terribly." He held out his hand as if to touch me, but I pulled back some to avoid it.

"Yeah, I'd rather you not do that, sorry. It hurts when things touch me, because it passes through me and disrupts whatever it is that holds me together. The older ghosts don't really notice it anymore, but it still hurts me like hell. I was just brushing up against you, earlier, when you felt me." He nodded.

"I'll attempt to avoid it. I apologize. That was you, by the way? Not that girl?" I nodded.

"Yeah. She just showed up about ten minutes ago."

"She called you a monster." I smirked.

"She wasn't lying. Also, she's not a little girl, I'm pretty sure. She's something else, something that's taking the form of a girl, but she's not. In case you were wondering." John gritted his teeth.

"No, she was lying. You are the farthest being from a monster I've ever met." I snorted and grinned at him, crossed my legs in front of me carefully, keeping my thoughts of there being no spoon firmly in my head so that such a move would be possible.

"Liar. At least it's a nice lie though, I guess." He stared at me with bright eyes and gritted teeth, and reached out to me as if to hold me, but the movement was aborted in midair, which just made it look like he was grabbing for something I couldn't see.

"I am not lying to you, Harry. You are a hero, not a monster." I gave him a lopsided smile and laughed.

"Stars and Stones, can they not ever be the same thing? I'm the cause of this whole power vacuum thing, aren't I? I'm the one who killed all those people. I'm the one so many people were afraid of. I might've saved a lot of people, but a lot of people have died because of me, too. Hell, some of them have died just because they knew me. Anyway, John, you wouldn't be the first person who's lied to me to make me feel better. Sometimes lies are better, I get that. I lie a lot too. Well, I used to. Not so much anymore." He sighed.

"Ms. Murphy? I've often assumed you and she spend half your time lying to one another." I grinned.

"Nah, she's usually pretty honest with me. I've lied to her though, a lot. I've had to. She's too damned smart for her own good, sometimes, especially when we first met. She always asked questions I couldn't answer without getting my head chopped off. I wonder sometimes if anything would be different now if I'd taken the risk and told her everything sooner." He shrugged and leaned his head against the solidly packed mud wall behind him.

"You'd still be dead now. The only way that would've changed is if you'd just fucking agreed to work for me." I snorted.

"Yeah, mob ties would've certainly extended my lifespan, Johnny. I've known that my life wouldn't exactly be described as having longevity ever since I was sixteen." He gazed at me blankly, and it looked as if he were trying to detach himself from the conversation.

"Have you looked into Kincaid yet? About your death, I mean. There are very few people alive that could've possibly made the shot that killed you. He is one of the most prominent." I shifted my shoulders and leaned my head back, allowed my eyes to slide closed. It wasn't like he could do anything to me now anyway.

"I've considered it, yeah. I can't think of a reason for him to do it, though; I didn't owe him any money." I felt the cool sensation of a solid object passing near my knee, and shuddered.

"You do not seem to be reacting as poorly to my presence as you did when you were alive." My lips quirked upwards in a tight smile.

"Is that so? Well, the memories are a little clearer, now, without those silly little prejudices and things getting away. The stuff between us, I see it now as it actually was instead of how I assumed it was. You were usually one of the good guys, and you cared about me. Besides, there's no reason to be scared of you now. Unless you can call a wraith here or something, or a lemur, you can't do anything more to me. Hell's Bells, we couldn't even touch each other unless I pulled my spoon trick." He raised his eyebrow and laughed gently.

"Spoon trick?"

"Yup. There is no spoon. I can control shit, now. Like, I don't float through the ground because I don't think I should. I can lean against this wall because I know it should be solid. I could also probably touch you, if I tried, because I know you're supposed to be solid and I'm not trying to possess you. See?" I leaned forward and thought hard about the feeling of solid flesh under my hand, of life like how I remembered it. It worked. My intangible hand landed on solid skin, even though I couldn't actually feel anything, couldn't feel then texture of his suit or anything else under my hand. He gazed down at his chest, at the hand, with an almost shocking amount of pain in his face.

"It just feels cold. I can't… I can't even tell what your hand feels like. I see it there, but it's not truly there." I remembered what he'd said, what he felt, suddenly, and reeled away. I'd probably hurt him, just then, by showing off my little trick.

"Sorry. I, uh… sorry." He swallowed again and nodded.

"Quite alright. Now, Ms. Gard, along with giving me the salve I'm currently using to see you, gave me something I could put you in in order to carry you out in the sun." He opened up his jacket and from it pulled a tiny, gilt box inlaid with shimmering rubies. I raised my eyebrows at it.

"I think the logistics of that are kind of off. I'd be lucky to get a big toe into that, John." Startled laughter fell from his lips, and even he looked surprised by it. I couldn't help but feel like it'd been a while since he last laughed. He laughed until his voice went dry and cracked achingly, and he seemed to have some trouble bringing himself back under control. A lot (too much) had happened in the last six months.

"It's bigger on the inside," he said, a grin still in his tone.

"Well, either way. I should probably stay here, in case anyone else needs me." The atmosphere changed with nearly frightening speed. John had always been good at that.

"No. Miss Murphy has not come here once since your death. The others have only come together, and even then not often. Also, thatthing is here, the one pretending to be a little girl. I would like you close to me, and even if I did not want such a thing, I'd not be able to think if I considered for a moment you'd be assaulted in such a way again." I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms.

"John. I'm fine. And besides, I already told me that she wasn't lying. I did bad things before I died, John. I would do them all again, and again, and again. Do you not know what happened, Marcone? The whole story? The… the last thing I did, before I went down to South America?" It had been cold. Oh, god, but it had been cold. She had been cold. I was still cold. Maybe I always would be. I deserved it. She'd been a force of nature. I wondered if I could've even resisted her if I'd wanted to. I swallowed thickly and the feeling of it made me feel alive again for a split second.

"I know that you wiped out the Red Court. I know that doing so has saved many lives." I smiled.

"And ended a whole hell of a lot of others. I know about the power vacuum, John. And I didn't do what I did to save the lives I did anyway. It was all for one person. I put my friends at risk. Stones, I don't even know everything I ended up doing to Molly. It was just for one person. I… I killed Susan, John, for this girl." I hadn't known a spirit could shake. I hadn't known John could look quite like he did, just then, so shocked, so… I didn't have the word for it.

"Susan? This other girl must be… important to you. However, Miss Rodriguez had been well on her way to turning for quite some time, hadn't she?" I choked, and I was crying again. He reached out and tried to grab me before he could stop himself, and his hands passed quickly through my body. I howled. He yelled out rapid fire apologies.

"Yeah. Not for… not for why you're thinking, though. She was… well, fuck, it isn't like you'd do anything to her anyway. She was my daughter. Mine and Susan's. Her name's Maggie. After my mom. I always… it was nice of Susan, to do that for me. Even though she never told me about her until the Red Court took her. And yeah, she was. Still. I didn't… I wasn't still in love with her, really. Hadn't been for… a while. I don't know how long. But a while. She was still the mother of my child, though, and I… I still cared about her. She was important. That was only the second time I killed someone like that, when I had a choice to do something else. The second time I killed someone I used to love." I was looking at him, but more through him than anything.

"She is alright, correct? I had already known that your daughter had been taken, but I never heard of her status."

"She's fine. I asked that I not be told where they sent her, in case… in case someone caught me and tried to look in my head for her. Or in case I changed. Did you hear about the deal I made yet? About how I agreed to become the new Winter Knight?" His hands were shaking too.

"Yes. I also understand why you did it. All you did, Harry… you are no monster. You are human, and therefore flawed. You… you have made mistakes. I have made many as well. To err is to be human, as they say. Do not hate yourself because you did what you had to do, because you were not perfect." I totally didn't hiccup, I swear.

"Christ. Never thought I'd actually wish I could hug you, you bastard. Look, open the fancy little box. I'll go with you, for a while at least. Maybe you can help me find who offed me in the first place."

"Thank you. Might you tell me one last thing, however?" I shrugged.

"What?"

"The second person you killed who you once loved?" Something shifted on my face, and he seemed to want to take his question back, but I held my hands up in a gesture to calm him.

"Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago. There's nothing you could do with information like this now anyway. I'm dead. You already know I was an orphan, right?"

"Since your sixth birthday, yes."

"Groovy. Yeah. On my tenth birthday, I got adopted by a Wizard, a former Warden and everything. His name was Justin DuMorne. He was… he was so good to me. He didn't call me a freak. He said I was special. He taught me magic. I respected him. I wanted to make him proud of me. Hell's Bells, I loved him. More than anyone else because he saved me. The first spell I ever learned was Flickum Bicus, you know? Wanna know where that came from? When he tried to teach me that spell, I cheated. I used a Bic lighter. He said I was better than that." I spat the words out as if they made me sick, and in some ways maybe they did. "So I tried again, and I lit the fireplace, but instead of his word, I used Flickum Bicus, so I'd always remember that I was better. And it worked. I did the spell. He gave me a baseball mitt, as a reward. That was the first real gift I ever got. I loved him so much, all because he saved me. Then I found out he just wanted to make me into his very own little enforcer. He had my foster sister on the couch one day, when I came home from school early, and he'd put a Thrall on her. He tried to do the same to me. I ran off, and he sent a demon after me. I just barely managed to get away from it, got in touch with Lea, and then I burned the bastard alive." John stared.

"I do not know whether to apologize or to express that I'm happy you got to him before me." I grinned. He was breathing too fast. It's funny what you notice when you're a ghost, isn't it? I moved closer to him, and his breathing sped up even more.

"Gonna open up that box any time soon, Johnny?"

"Of course, Harry," he sighed out, the words almost a caress. He opened the tiny golden box with a strange sort of gentleness, and I felt a strange sort of tugging centered near where my heart once sat. I stepped closer to the box lazily, a strange sort of sway to my steps. "Come now, Harry. Gard gave me this just for you. Ah, and thank you for allowing me to call you by your first name now, by the way." I laughed before I shrugged and got even closer to the golden box. It tugged at me harder.

"No problem, man. Just doesn't really seem like much of a big deal anymore, you know?" He coughed, and suddenly started crying. Not loudly, not theatrically, but they were there, shining, pale tears on his cheeks.

"Yes. I'm afraid I do understand," he told me, and then I felt the box suck me into it.

It looked like the inside of my old apartment, within the box, down to the last detail. I wondered if it looked like this because I wanted it to, or because John had Gard make it like this. I walked carefully over to the old second hand couch and sat down, its protesting creak beautiful in my ears, its softness pillowing me delicately. All my books sat, bent and destitute, on my bookshelf. My fireplace blazed. I felt a million memories beating me at once, all the things about this place I loved, all the amazing things that had happened here. I curled up and allowed the bittersweet feelings to wash over me. My feet felt cold, and that made me laugh. I yanked the throw blanket down from the top of the couch and wrapped myself in it tightly. I sat there like that for a while, gazing up at the ceiling, halfway expecting to hear Mrs. Spunklecrief stomping around upstairs, halfway expecting Mouse to come bulldozing in and pounce on top of me, halfway expecting Mister to barrel into the door, begging to be let in.

I stood up and wandered around, some, found everything how it should've been, even the trapdoor to my subbasement. When I went down there, though, Bob wasn't there; his books were, all my potion ingredients were, but he was stark in his absence. I supposed that living things couldn't be reproduced here, even if they weren't living in the strictest sense of the word. I stepped back upstairs and pulled one of my older books from myself. It even felt the same as always, creased and bent and singed in a couple of places, with a clump of pages torn out from when Mister and Mouse got into a fight over it a few years back. The fire felt hot. I dropped onto the rug in front of it and stretched out, like I did sometimes before, when I was tired and cold and didn't want to move. I felt like I'd been in there for about an hour or three when I was suddenly not alone anymore.

John made a striking figure, standing on my coffee table (was it really mine anymore, now that it didn't exist?). A new wave of nausea overcame me for a second, but I got over it relatively quickly and forced myself up to my feet.

"Uh. Hiya, John." He smirked.

"Gard created this thing so that I could go into it well. I quite like what you've done with the place, by the way." I grinned.

"That so? Pretty neat working, then. I'm going to guess I'm solid in here?" He nodded, and I walked forward to poke him in the chest. "Cool. Now off my damned table, dumbass. You're not giving a rallying speech or anything. You have absolutely no reason to be up there." He laughed quietly.

"Well, it puts me at eye level with you." I snorted.

"If you wanted to do that you should've brought a step ladder with you. Murph has threatened to before, you know. I think it was to hit me with, but still." The memory flitted clearly behind my eyes. Goddamn, but this would take some getting used to. "Where are we, anyway? The box, I mean."

"My mansion, at least until nightfall. After that point, I'll assume you'd like to leave." He hopped off the table to drop onto my couch and recline there. I joined him. It didn't remind me of anything that had ever happened previously, but I almost wished it did. Seeing John like I did now, without the old things I'd just assumed getting in the way, I'd have liked to get to know him a little better than I had. I've discovered a lot of regrets I didn't even know I had, because of this. And here I thought dying was easy, compared to life. Stupid universe always has to go and fuck with me. I'd have thought that not technically existing anymore would've been a way to get me at least one or two free passes. Or that maybe I could've cashed in on the bullshit I dealt with when I was alive to get a couple of nice deals.

"Yeah. I've got a lot to do. Rescue Mort, help Fitz, find my killer, save the world for the… uh… this is the thirteenth time, isn't it? Whatever. Somewhere around that. But yeah. Busy little bee is me."

"I'll help you, of course. Who is Fitz?"

"Some kid, shot up Murph's place. He and his little friends are being controlled by some asshole though. Small timer with a talent for messing with people's heads that wants to wave his proverbial magical dick around by making his own cult of loyal teenagers. Fitz can hear me, though. I promised him I'd meet him tonight, help him and his friends out. Anyway, none of this is your mess. I don't need you to help me clean it up." He gave me that particular look that people always give me, when they thought I was being an idiot. I was maybe a little too used to it.

"Harry, if someone is using children in order to make their metaphorical dick feel larger, I assure you, it's my business." I cackled, like, full-on which cackled, I'll admit it. Look, I just don't ever expect to hear John say stuff like 'metaphorical dick', okay? It surprises me. And also brings out the catty bitch in me, I guess.

"Well, you know you'd have to deal with him mostly without me, right? I'll help as much as I can, but my metaphorical magical dick, while much larger than his, is kind of incapable of being waved around right now. It'll re-kill me if I use too much magic right now, which is not my goal at the moment, because I have recently been informed that me dying right now would result in me being the Gone kind of gone. Funnily enough, I'm against that." He nodded.

"I've dealt with many small-timers on my own, while you've been away. I can handle another." I smiled crookedly, and it felt kind of weird with a mostly solid face again.

"That so? You talk like I'm coming back or something." His hand settled on my arm and gripped there tightly, and a taut smile appeared on his face. I was once again confronted with how he'd aged since I last saw him, with the dark circles that made him look like he'd gone three rounds with a brick wall and gotten KO'd all three rounds.

"You will. You are. I will not let you leave me again." I shivered.

"You're a badass with balls of steel, John, I'll give you that, but I don't think you can find my body, which I've been told is unavailable at the moment, and somehow manage to shove me back in it." He stilled.

"Unavailable?"

"Yeah. They would've put me back in that instead of just sending me out like this if they could've, but it's somewhere that they can't get it. I haven't been able to figure that part out yet either." His hand tightened. I was reminded of the elephant in the room, of his apparent love for me, suddenly. I wondered if we should talk about that or something. I gazed at him and felt a pang somewhere that couldn't have been my heart, because it wasn't there anymore. This body felt cold even to me, because it wasn't actually real. My feet, in particular, were still ice blocks. I swallowed. John was a good man. He was brave. He was funny as hell, when I was willing to admit it. He had always helped me. He helped those that couldn't help themselves, too. His moral code was probably stricter than mine. He cared about me, of all people. More flashes of his face in various times of our… friendship, I guessed I could call it, shot across my mind. I could see the love in all of it, now, at least the later images. I finally recognized the flirting in at least half the conversations we'd had with one another. I finally recognized that I'd always given as good as I'd gotten with him.

"They?" he whispered. He seemed to be getting lost in memories as well.

"Yeah. The angels, Uriel especially. He's always had a thing with me. His department was the one that sent me back. Murphy's dad is there, Jack." My own voice was a little hazy. "Hey, John? Were you telling the truth, when you were talking to me earlier? Before you knew I was actually there?" His smile was thin and wavered a little.

"If you mean do I really love you, then yes, I do. I have for quite some time. My greatest regret, in fact, the moment I heard about what happened to you, was that I'd never told you. I'd always been afraid of what you'd do, what you'd say. I couldn't have handled your rejection, not then." And that's what he would've gotten, I knew that. I hadn't been… I hadn't been very open, when I was alive. Stuff like that had always scared the hell out of me. Hell's Bells, I never had been very open with sexuality, even after the things Susan and Anastasia had dragged out of me, and there had been a lot, a lot of shameful things I hated admitting to and hated coming to even more, but they'd had me admitting it all. There'd been… I'd used mentioned John more than once, some nights. I hadn't ever been shy about admitting that he was a handsome man. He still was, even with the extra years piled on him. I wanted to apologize to him, for some reason. I wanted to kiss him, too. Friend. Lover. Friend. John. I wasn't sure anymore. This wasn't the kind of thing I should have to consider, anymore. Hadn't I wanted to try things with Murphy, before I died? Maybe I had. Or maybe I'd just wanted someone, and I did love Murphy, with all of myself, for all of forever. She was my best friend. Maybe I'd thought it would work when it wouldn't because I'd wanted comfort desperately, that day. I didn't want to look at that with a clear head anymore, any of this.

"Oh. You're a good man, you know that, John? I haven't ever been very good at stuff like this. I… look, I've always thought you were fit as hell with the prettiest set of eyes I've ever seen. Stones, don't look at me like that, I'm telling the truth! I mean, you're making me analyze a lot about myself right now. I only just admitted to myself that you were my friend. Now you're making me dig out every last fucking fantasy I've ever had of you and look at it objectively because I can't look at it in any other way like this, and it's hard. It's… I'm not sure I like what I see, John, because what I see is telling me that I love you too." He gazed at me. And then he lunged forward and kissed me square on the lips, hard and rough and all teeth and so real it made me feel a little sick. This was… I was dead. This was wrong in a million ways and I couldn't name a single one just then. He pulled away with hooded eyes and red lips.

"You speak of my eyes as if they're nicer than yours, Harry. Christ. Do you know what I've been going through without you? Constant fear, fear that I'll become a beast in human skin, a monster in a suit, without your influence. Fear that you were in pain, that you didn't get the paradise you deserved even in death. Fear that wherever you were, you hated me. Fear that I'd fuck something up and Chicago, the world, would fall. You don't understand what a pivotal being you are, always have been. How important. How necessary. I question whether you ever will. I want you to come back, Harry, to be alive again." I tried a smile, but I don't think it worked.

"Yeah? I want that too. Funny how the world is a bitch about giving people what they want." And we cried together. I don't know for how long. I just know that it felt like the most beautiful thing I've ever done. And that made me sob even harder. John's hands shook where they held me. I wondered how big of a mess we, my other important people, the whole damned world, had become.