Christmas time had come about as always: suddenly and without warning. At least to many people who found that the 25th was coming closer and closer and they had no gifts shopped, no trees bought and no decorations up.

Harry Dresden didn't have a tree in his apartment and he didn't have one in his office. He had never had one before in his life. Not as a child when he had still had a real family. Not with DuMorne, and later not with Ebe McCoy. Buying a tree in the city had been out of the question due to his budget and also because he really didn't need one.

He had always more or less ignored the festivities, even if he hadn't been able to overlook the Christmas decorations aggressively popping up everywhere, the stressed-out shoppers, the jingles, the dressed-up people, and the endless caroling.

Now he couldn't ignore the humongous tree at Executive Priority Health every time he walked inside. It had appeared at the beginning of December and was lushly and professionally decorated, and brightly lit in the evening hours. The reception desk nearly disappeared behind the monstrosity.

At least the townhouse was free of anything even resembling Christmas decoration.

xxXxx

The week leading up to the seasonal highlight was also filled with a surge in supernatural activities. Some faerie had decided to dress up as some kind of demented elf and was terrorizing the neighborhoods. Some of the homeless went missing in certain areas and rumors spread of monsters in the shadows.

So he investigated.

It was his job.

It was his city, his to guard from things that went bump in the night, and he didn't like anything taking up hold inside the Hold and scaring, possibly eating, those down on their luck.

The faerie looked like something out of a Christmas horror flick. C-movie, with bad make-up and really obvious prosthetics. But Twinkletoes was tremendously strong, had enough fire power to give him a run for his money, and it had some lower faerie henchmen that feature long, curved claws, fangs, and were really, really fast.

Yes, Harry Dresden did earn his keep that night, even if there was really no one paying him. He hadn't been hired by a private person, nor by the PD to consult on the string of disappearances of the homeless. Just another freebie, topped by going up against something nightmarishly strong and fast.

So in the early hours of December 26th Dresden limped home, close to blacking out sometimes, and only because his body knew the way instinctively didn't he just collapse behind a dumpster and stay there.

As it was, it was a close call.

He fell through the door, barely strong enough to push it open as it stuck and refused to budge. With a frustrated cry he finally managed and just about closed it before keeling over on his couch. Even the bedroom was too far away.

Harry had no idea how much time had passed when he finally roused enough to take in his environment, but he knew he was still in a bad state. His left side hurt where he had been kicked so hard he might have cracked a rib. There was caked blood on his stomach when sharp claws had slashed him. And his head hurt.

A clear sign that he had exerted himself. Sure, he had an insane arsenal magically speaking, but he was a child in wizard terms and his body wasn't used to what he was doing. Fighting against several opponents, one of them very adept at confronting human wizards and beating the crap out of them, had taken a toll. He had thrown up shields, tried to obliterate the hench-things, and he had finally conjured enough power to send the freaky elf-thing back to the Nevernever with the strong warning against trying this again.

Okay, so he had also started a dumpster fire and he had probably set off the alarms in a near-by business because of the shockwave of power that had rolled through the back alley.

"Ouch," he groaned as he rolled off the couch in an undignified flail and nearly bashed his elbow at the couch table.

Harry managed to get into the shower, but it was a close call, and somehow he dried himself off and got into bed where he lay like the limp impersonation of a powerful wizard he was.

The apartment looked impersonal; like some cheap rental where the landlord hadn't bothered to add anything but old furniture and a worn rug. There was nothing personal left; nothing that meant anything.

Harry dropped off once more, rousing only when his body decided it was time. He found toast that tasted as bland as it looked and coffee that tasted better than he had expected. Nothing else had remained in his fridge.

When did I put toast in my fridge? he wondered.

His eyes roamed around the sparse place and there was a pang of something deep inside. This had been his apartment for a very long time; actually since he had moved to Chicago. It had been his safe haven, his home. It never had the strong personal wards of a true home, something that was his alone, because it had been a rental and utilitarian to a degree.

It didn't feel like the house; the one he shared with John. The place that had a threshold so thick and strong, it might even hold off against a combined blow from the Senior Council's most powerful wizards. It was a place where he had his own area to retreat to, where John had his office and equally private rooms. It was theirs and it was his and it was John's.

The apartment… was just an apartment.

And yet he was reluctant to part from it.

Because…

Because…

There was no reason. Really. None at all. The stubborn part inside him that had insisted that he didn't want to rely on Marcone, his money, his properties, his wealth… everything the man had and was… that part had finally shut up and he had accepted that he wasn't a bought or owned wizard. He was still himself, still Harry Dresden, and he still grumbled, argued and sometimes shouted, but the emotional connection was the primary bond between them.

John did what he did in his own way. He had always done it, had always looked out for Dresden, and Harry knew the emotions were very real. Like his own.

Bob had hinted at it often enough and he had more or less verbally kicked him several times.

And still, the place was here; he paid for an empty space because he was hanging on to memories… a sap… an idiot, actually.

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his damp, tangled hair. He winced as he encountered a bump. Still aching, he located his clothes and found they looked as bad as they had last night. He had no replacements here and unlike certain namesake wizards in his book, he couldn't just mutter a spell and repair them.

His duster hid most of the damage, though he had a big tear in his jeans. Oh well, it might just conform to some fashion trend or other. Thankfully, the populace of Chicago tended to ignore those around them they didn't want to get in contact with, so taking the bus and then walking the last long stretch wasn't too bad. Due to the date, there was hardly anyone going his way. People were either still sleeping or already heading toward the shops to exchange their gifts, harass retail workers, or complain about too many people doing the very same thing as they wanted to use their gift cards on stuff.

Part of Harry reminded him that he had missed Christmas, that maybe John had expected him to be home for some kind of celebration dinner. Another part was too tired to contemplate what they might have done, since Marcone had been busy at the office, too. The man was a workaholic and he hardly took note of holidays, weekends or any other form of celebration.

Yeah, they fit, Harry thought fuzzily as he raided the kitchen for food other than dry toast, then lugged his loot into his room and dressed in less burned and torn clothes spattered in blood.

xxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxx

He hadn't missed any form of dinner, thankfully. Dresden remembered John saying something about a reception at a high-end gallery where Marcone had been schmoozing some politicians, making nice and gathering intel, so to speak. He had called it an informal meeting, but the way he had dressed, he had been prepared to go into a battle of a different sorts. Everyone who was anyone in this city, or had enough money to donate his entry fee, came to shake hands, donate even more money, meet others, chat and generally overindulge in champagne and expensive food from an exquisite buffet.

It was John's dance floor and he worked it like the professional he was. Harry had no idea how he always made it through such mind-numbing meetings without losing his cool. He moved through the crowds like the shark he was, scenting for blood, heading for the elusive prey and taking a bite out of those too innocent to see a predator when it was hunting. A shark with a tiger's soul, Harry had once mused. An apex predator, smooth and charming, all good looks and charisma, well-educated and with the monetary power to back up his plans.

"Years of practice," had been answer to that particular question. "You can win a fight with raw power and threats, but the long run, the marathon so to speak, is won by those with a different kind of talent."

Yes, politics weren't Harry's strong suit and the few times he had been caught up in supernatural, wizardly politics, he had wanted to just bang his head against the table. The intricacies usually escaped him and he hated the clauses and how people talked around the actual topic, always pulling and pushing, trying to gain the upper hand, even while they were already losing, and how veiled threats and underhanded moves made his blood boil.

Yes, maybe John had been like that when he had first tried to rope one Harry Dresden into working for him, but Harry had never responded politically there either. He had never hidden his distaste, his anger, his temper of any sorts.

"While that makes you an attractive package," Marcone had told him with a purr, "it doesn't endear you to others."

"Huh. Might explain the White Council's stance on my continued existence," he remarked flippantly. "You never objected."

"Oh, I did. You simply didn't see it as such or you are a pro at ignoring the level of threat and danger you are in."

"Pro," Harry declared with a cheeky smile. "Very much a pro."

xxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxx

The faerie hunting in the streets of Chicago hadn't had any visible ties to either Court, but Harry still suspected it had been of Winter.

"It could be conjured as an infraction of my non-aggression treaty with Winter," John remarked, sounding casual and almost bland. His expression belied that tone, though. There was a dark fire in the green eyes that spoke of his anger.

"If you can trace Twinkletoes back to Winter."

Marcone raised an eyebrow at the name, but Harry ignored the teasing light. It had been hard to ignore the amount of glitter the thing had apparently spray-painted everywhere to make itself into some kind of terrifying Christmas decoration. He had no idea where it had gotten the stuff from, but the glitter hadn't helped; it had been more of an eye-sore because of it.

"While the Queens like to think they have absolute control over their subjects, there are the occasional rogues and daring hot heads. It would be attributed to some lone action. Also, you weren't attacked personally, John."

"Taking lives in my territory constitutes as a personal attack."

Harry grunted and shrugged. "Like I said, thin ice. Bringing it up at an Unseelie Accords meeting would probably end with pissing off Winter, giving more power to Summer, or showing weakness because you file grievance after one little tango. You also weren't directly involved and I took care of it. No harm no foul."

"I agree."

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "Are you trying to teach me politics, Marcone?" he asked hotly.

"Apparently it worked. You didn't propose to charge forward, damn the consequences."

"Hey! I sometimes think before I leap!"

"Key word being sometimes?"

"I hate you."

"You are growing, Mr. Dresden," John purred as he walked around the desk in his private office. He had been doing some intense paper work all day long. "It seems something rubs off now and then."

"And you really need to work on the pick-up lines. That one was bad, if you intended to have this lead to sex. Office sex." Harry grinned cheekily and waggled his eyebrows.

Marcone smirked. "Not everything leads to sex. And that waggle was atrocious."

"Hm, but you recognized it as such. You should see my come hither look."

"I'd rather not."

Harry wrapped nimble fingers around the blood red tie, silky and hellishly exclusive like all of Marcone's bespoke wardrobe, roping him closer. John started maneuvering him backwards.

Okay, so his sex life had improved and his flirting was still bad, but Harry liked getting his hands on his partner and the desire was reciprocated. Apparently John Marcone felt the same when it came to tall, gangly wizards with no taste in clothing, because Harry usually came out of their encounters well-fucked and pleasantly sore.

His knees hit the couch and he flopped back, pulling Marcone with him. For Dresden it was an uncoordinated maneuver – he blamed the assorted bumps and bruises, not to mention the sore ribs and the healing scratches over his belly - while John made it look fluid and graceful.

"Seeing as you look like a faerie's punching ball, I'd say we postpone anything more strenuous until you have healed," Marcone murmured as he straddled him and leaned in to kiss him.

Harry was only too happy to comply, humming appreciatively into the open-mouthed kiss.

"I can think of a few not so strenuous things. And I'm fine," he mumbled when they came up for air.

"Let's call it a principle of mine," John replied, pale green eyes serious and still so very hot.

"I'm all for you having principles, but…" Harry cupped the firm buttocks and kneaded gently, "I also feel like I really want you to blow me."

"I think that can be arranged," was he smooth reply.

xxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxx

New Year's started with a bang; literally. One of the empty, derelict warehouses went up in fire and flames, with an assortment of colorful explosions. The news reports ran with a story about illegal fireworks being stored there.

Marcone knew better.

Especially since he was there to back up a wizard set on banishing a drug-dealing minor warlock Harry had been trying to flush out of the city. The man had been a thorn in Marcone's side for his bumbling and interfering enterprise, so Dresden had investigated where the new drug had come from. The police had been on the same track, so it had been more or less a collaboration with Lieutenant Murphy, who had grudgingly hired Dresden as a consultant.

Too many overdoses had led to unrest in the drug scene, with minor fights and one major drive-by as tempers flared and people accused one another of sullying the trade. Marcone had kept a lid on things, issuing just enough threats to keep a false peace, but it had only been a matter of time.

And then they had finally found the man behind the bad drugs. Harry had been on fire; and he had set things on fire. John had watched in appreciation and not just a little bit of awe as Harry had fought the two spider-like creatures the warlock had apparently conjured as his pets, calling on power that he hadn't been able to channel mere months ago. The warlock was foaming at the mouth, spewing all kinds of wild slurs and screeching about taking over the city as his own, but in the end it only took a well-placed bullet to bring him down. Hendricks hadn't killed him, no. The spider-things that Harry had insisted on calling Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum had turned on their master the moment he was bleeding and weak.

"That's what you get for conjuring demonic spiders!" Harry yelled, voice rough and scratchy. He had burned down everything, spiders included.

The fight had drained him and he was absolutely exhausted in the end, but he was victorious.

That Hendricks had to drag him out of the fire didn't dampen his spirit. He was grinning like a loon, weaving on his feet, high on magic and low on energy at the same time.

"Wizard: One. Big Uglies: Butt Kicked," he declared.

Marcone looked at him, the soot streaked hair and face, the way he was clearly on his last leg energy-wise, but the light in those dark eyes was full of fire.

"You blew up one of my properties again," he remarked as he holstered his gun.

He had dressed up in armor and had come prepared. After the last stunt Harry had pulled, he had gone after him without a moment of hesitation.

Harry waved him off. "You wanted to tear that thing down anyway."

Marcone inclined his head, trying to hide his smile. "So you did me a favor?"

"Hm. Always."

Hendricks grabbed a fist full of duster as Harry stumbled toward the limo, guiding him.

"Paws off, I can walk, Cujo!"

"Doubtful," came the rumble, but Hendricks let go.

Harry promptly fell against the car. "I just need a little pick me up," he mumbled.

"Any preference?" John asked amiably.

Another hand-wave. "Burger. Fries. Shake. Bed."

"Mr. Hendricks, you heard the man."

Blue eyes narrowed and Hendricks scowled, but he got into the car. They were off just as the fire brigade tore toward the burning building.

xxXxx

Murphy called just as they pulled away from a burger joint and Harry gave her a briefing between bites of burger and stuffing fries into his mouth. Apparently the Lieutenant was a professional at translating Dresden Talk With Food In His Mouth. Knowing him as long as she did, Marcone didn't have a doubt.

"You're welcome," Harry said cheerfully into the phone. "Cleaned up a little. Sorry about the fire."

There was some yelling John couldn't make out and he didn't try to hide his amusement.

Harry finished his milkshake, answering a few more questions, then called his good-byes. He grinned as he looked at Marcone, looking still cruelly tired, but the food had rejuvenated him enough.

"Let's not do that again," he declared.

"I would prefer not to," John agreed.

xxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxx

Some people might argue that it had taken him way longer than it should have to make this decision. Others would probably call him an idiot, for a different reasons, though.

But Harry had needed the time to go through all the arguments in his head, sometimes extensively, almost close to getting a whiteboard and writing out the pros and cons of it all. Maybe it had also taken the last two attacks, both of which had shown him his limits but also how far he had gone past his training already. Maybe it had been the way Marcone so calmly went into the fray with him, how they worked seamlessly, migrating back to the townhouse to tend to their wounds. Well, mostly Harry's.

Bob had been highly entertained whenever he had used the skull as a sounding board.

"You know you want to," had been his usual summarization of Harry's endless seeming rants.

"Yes, but…"

"Just do it already! You waited years to get laid by the one guy who gave you absolute control of that freaking arsenal of magic you're packing. What's so special about this now, boss?"

It was always the same.

Always.

"You're just being your obstinate self, Dresden."

"Will the peanut gallery please shut up?!"

"This is really, really painful," the gallery in question only quipped. "Like just about every personal decision you've made for, oh, I don't know… years!"

And Harry could argue himself into a coma and back out of it again.

"Do you really think it's that much of a big step?" the skull asked, voice suddenly more serious and very reasonable. "It's not."

"It is, Bob," he muttered.

"Hopeless," came the long-suffering sigh. "It's been close to a year now!"

And still…

Was there any doubt that this wasn't permanent? No. Actually, none at all.

"Let yourself have this," Bob implored. "It's yours."

Yes, it was. No strings attached. No second guessing, no manipulations, no mind-control, nothing.

This was his.

xxXxx

He made a decision.

It might have been so much easier if the place had simply fallen victim to a building fire, but the Powers didn't give him that graceful exit.

xxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxx

John Marcone looked at the stack of papers with the messy bow wrapped around them, reading over the confirmation letter on top. His brows dipped down, then he raised his eyes to meet Harry's.

"Mr. Dresden?"

"Late Christmas present?"

Eyebrows rose fractionally. Harry stood his ground. "You really need an explanation?" he tried.

He had waltzed into John's office, the one he kept at Executive Priority, handing over his 'present' with a "There you are" and nothing much else.

"Usually, I would like one. In words." Marcone placed the papers on his desk and walked around it. "This time, no. I can read. I'm simply… surprised. The question that can't be answer by this bundle is: why now?"

"Well, I had a hard time coming up with a Christmas present… and then forgot all about festivities anyway, and suddenly there's a new years… and it kinda slipped my mind… but here it is. Belated Merry Christmas or whatever." He tried a grin and failed.

The eyebrows dipped a little. "We have never exchanged gifts."

"There's always a first."

Marcone's face reflected exactly what he thought of Harry Dresden's mental capacities right now. Or his sanity.

Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "You made me an offer I couldn't refuse?" he joked.

Okay, so Godfather jokes weren't new to him and while not appreciated, tolerated. He got a small smile and a shake of his head.

"You didn't have to cancel your lease, Harry."

"It burned a hole in my pocket."

"To stay with your bad movie references, I made you an offer regarding your apartment and you refused. I never asked again and I was under the impression you wanted to keep the apartment for personal reasons."

His mouth became a thin line. "First of all, I don't take your money. I never have, I never will."

"I'm still very much aware of it. You made a decision, though?"

Harry shrugged. "And second, seeing how I'm always here… I mean, the place is collecting dust and there's hardly anything there but old furniture, not to mention there's nothing at all in the fridge…"

Another mild smile. "So it is a matter of convenience?"

"Hardly. The commute is longer."

Marcone chuckled and closed the distance. "You are still a contrary, mule-headed, argumentative and very much obstinate man, Mr. Dresden."

"It's a knack. And you love me for it."

"And I love you," was the quietly echoed confirmation. "Even if you are romantically challenged."

"Romanti… uh, what?"

Marcone shook his head, smirking.

"Asshole! And I'm paying my share of the utilities," he added, struggling not to feel like he was making a fool out of himself again. He knew he was failing. "My share of using whatever you're paying for this place."

"It's covered."

His lips formed a stubborn line and he narrowed his eyes. "I'm not living at your expense, John!"

"You are not."

"And don't pull that shield crap on me! I'm not a kept man!"

Marcone burst out laughing once more. A real, heartfelt laugh. "Harry… If you feel you have to give money to something, please donate it to the local children's hospital or the bird sanctuary."

The stubborness grew.

"Nothing I offer or give to you ever comes with a prize," Marcone told him, voice low and serious. "You know that. The house is ours. Not mine. I know you can feel the strength of the threshold. I was assured by Miss Gard that she has never come in contact with such wards before. Your magic accepted this place, is woven deep within it."

It was actually a fortress by now, Harry thought faintly. Whatever tried to cross the threshold would get the magical equivalent of a titanium door slammed into their face. Fusing Gard's and his magic together had resulted in this protection.

"If you insist to have your name on the papers, my lawyers will accommodate you."

"What? No! John, that's not it!"

Marcone met his outburst silently. Harry shook his head. Yes, he had given up his apartment. Yes, John and he were the magical equivalent to married, though it wouldn't hold up in the mundane courts. And no, he didn't plan on waltzing into the registry office, thank you so very much!

But still… he was contrary to the end. He needed to fight every step of the way. Even when the offer was made with no ill intentions to ensnare him. And even when he had made the first move.

"This is insane," he murmured again.

Marcone pulled him close and Dresden leaned in to place a soft kiss on John's lips. He felt the magic around him, felt it like a comforting hum in the back of his mind, in every molecule of his being. It approved.

"Even if a stack of papers and a lease termination letter can't be compared to a nice bottle of wine or dinner, I can appreciate their meaning," Marcone remarked, sounding amused.

"I wrapped a bow around them."

John grinned. "That you did."

"And that stuff you drink costs an arm and a leg. Who spends so much on wine?"

"I like the taste."

"I can do dinner."

"Hm."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Even in a restaurant!"

"I don't doubt that you clean up very nicely, Mr. Dresden. I have seen you in a tux and I have to say I approve. Knowing you as I do, sharing living space and food, I'd say pizza would do nicely."

He scowled at the smirking man. "Sometimes I can't decide whether you are insulting me or being a nice guy."

Marcone pulled him into a close-mouthed kiss. "Yes."

"And don't come complaining when something goes boom around here," Dresden muttered.

Strong, broad hands slid under his duster. "I never do. Unless it brings down the house. Then we need to talk."

xxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxxxxXxx

The rest of January actually turned out to be much calmer, with nothing more than a few minor incidents that didn't require Marcone's personal attention. Harry was chasing werewolves or finding lost pets, keeping the mass destruction down to absolute zero.

It was in the first week of February that matters took off once again.