here is a map with your name for a capital

[forzare]

Who: team chicago ( dresden & marcone )
When: [BACKDATED] to the evening of 11/27
Where: sector 5, at first
Summary: john gets called to the scene; harry tries to learn from his mistakes
Warnings: Mentions of violence. Will update as necessary.


Moving is a chore and a half, because one leg is still viciously tangled up in the chainlink fence that had previously served as a barrier between himself and the amusement park. That was before being thoroughly thrashed by Mister God Complex. Harry takes a moment to assess the damages, and drags his NV out with one hand - the other's not exactly following his commands. Everything hurts, but he writes out a message and takes a huge risk.

[text: to john marcone
can you cme pick me up
i mean litrly pck me up

follow the prikling on your scalp]

Worst penmanship ever, he thinks, and stuffs the NV back into his pocket. Keep moving, Dresden, or you're going to conk out again. Harry keeps going, reaching for his pocket to make use of the link he had to his roommate. There is a circle. There is a force of will. And then somewhere in the city, Marcone will most likely be feeling the sensation of someone's hands grabbing at his hair oh how rude of the wizard.

Comments

[freeholding]

He is getting too old to carry overgrown men around in his arms. It's almost fine until Harry wriggles around and curls up to wrap his arm more securely around John. John huffs out a breath, stirring the dark hair that's now almost in his mouth. With an eyeroll, he carries Harry to the bed, not responding lest he wind up with strands of hair caught in his lips. He wants close proximity to the man, but there are still limits, short as they are.

Turning down the bed, he sets Harry down. His arms ache from all the work and carrying and playing medic. The adrenaline from earlier in the night has run completely dry, and John feels tired at last. Almost done, thankfully. The wizard's shirt is gone, along with his shoes and socks. The jeans that John ruined with the scissors need off. He gets on that, keeping his hands steady and clinical as he unbuttons and unzips.

"I have been calling you Harry for some time now," John informs him. He looks up, catches Harry's eyes for the first time in a while (and he will never stop to think about that, how not staring into the man's eyes is far stranger than anything, like they're magnetic opposites pulled to each other). "But your permission is appreciated."

John notices the rattle after a moment, when the noise doesn't fade away like most apartment sounds tend to. His eyes are drawn to the window. Does it do that every night? Does Harry just sleep through it like its nothing? That certainly explains a few things... He will see about buying plywood or something, anything to nail over the window to stop the rattle.

"Your concern is appreciated, but unneeded," John says kindly. Anything to assuage Harry's worries so he'll sleep, for God's sake. "It's still early, relatively speaking. I've got to get rid of the sheets, see if we have any more. If not, the sofa will work for tonight.

"You," he puts a hand on Harry's shoulder, "need to sleep. Get to REM cycle before the pain comes back. Focus on getting better."

[forzare]

"Oh." Well, he'd only just noticed that 'Dresden' had become 'Harry' and was wondering when that had happened and why he honestly didn't care any more. While once it was a way to keep the other at a professional distance, there was absolutely no reason to keep it up on the island. So - permission granted and boundary negated. If they're working together, it'd feel better to be on a first-name basis, right?

Harry's articulate response is swallowed up by his hands, as he covers his face and lets out another stray, muffled noise that's half-exhaustion and half-protest. When he finally pulls his hands away, it's to double-check the window - still faintly rattling in its frame - and try to sit up one last time. John's hand is on his shoulder, and he does fight it. With a lot less fire than usual, but even still.

"One--," he gets a single word out before his brow knits in what can only be pure, drugged determination and he hauls John down (carefully) and fuck it all, he wraps his good arm around the man's shoulders and hangs on. Only it's not hanging on, and he's really not trying to keep John there any longer than he'd like to be. It's just a hug. A very messy, loose hug but the sentiment is there, nevertheless. "--more thing." Harry finishes, his voice muffled into John's shoulder.

His hand drifts to the back of the man's neck, softening in case he doesn't want the embrace or has had enough of suddenly-clingy wizards and their ability to get into way more trouble than they're worth in a matter of weeks. "Thank you." And that's it, really. Not even because he feels like he owes John now, but just - thank you and i'll do better from now on and i have your back i guess that's it before he finally lets go and does his best to behave and go to sleep.

[freeholding]

It honestly takes a few seconds for John to figure out what the hell Dresden is doing. When it finally sinks in, John could be knocked over with a feather were he not being help upright by Harry's embrace. He isn't sure what he's done to warrant this, if he just looks that peaky, if Harry has missed his presence, or if Harry is just affectionate when on medication. Whatever it is, John is careful, like the moment will break apart at the slightest nudge.

He bows his head, resting against Harry's shoulder, and places his hand lightly against the space between shoulder blades. It's a... nice moment.

John huffs out a breath and says, "If you fall asleep on me, I will not take kindly to it." But there's no threat there, not really.

He helps Harry lay down as much as he can, even pulling the blankets up around him once he's settled. And if he had to fight tooth and nail to get please out of the man, a thank you was even more unexpected. John smiles.

"I would say 'anytime,' but let's not encourage you to get yourself maimed by faux-gods." He lays his hand on Harry's forehead for a beat, brushing the hair back. Then, "Sleep."