Chapter Text
...
The lights of the aquarium glinted and reflected off the water that was on display in the large tanks. That had to have something to do with why he felt sick. His head swam every time he moved even as he tried his best to hide it from Kincaid. Hiding the pain he was in became second nature over the last few months. A constant battle of putting one foot in front of the other. A battle that was becoming more difficult the longer time went on.
"Boss you have got to find a way to heal your spirit," Bob had told him, "You are slowly destroying yourself. There will not be enough of you to come back from this if the process is not halted and reversed."
Bob's words played in his mind. The problem was they didn't know how to fix. They'd tried as everything that he was physically able to do. Nothing worked. It was just too much. So he did his best to just survive. Until now. He wasn't sure if it came to a fight that he would walk away from it.
They stepped into the room where Nicodemus was waiting. The man stood in his impeccable suit, his noose hanging around his neck. His back was to them as he watched the fish. When the door closed behind them his head tilted ever so slightly, his dark eyes slid to Harry and then to Kincaid. A strange smile touched his lips but it turned into a frown when they went back to Harry. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the look on his face was gone. Back to the carefully crafted blank expression that was his normal.
Nicodemus’s head tilted as he questioned, “Really? Who?”
“Does it matter?” Kincaid asked, his tone bored, “The Archive is willing to permit it, if you have no objections.”
Nicodemus turned all the way around finally. Harry couldn’t see his expression, just his outline against the tank. His shadow, meanwhile, kept circling the room behind the shark. A shiver went down his spine and his body shook slightly. Nicodemus didn’t say anything at first, instead, his gaze settled on the wizard. He stared him down, his head tilting to the side.
“No,” said Nicodemus, his tone dismissive and bored, “No, I don’t suppose it does, really. On one condition."
Harry had a bad feeling about this. One that intensified when a slow smile started to spread across Nicodemus’ face. Harry had the feeling that it had to do with him. Or his involvement. Either way it was going to end badly for him. It always did. What was Nicodemus going to demand from him? Take up the coin? To have a Soul Gaze?
Kincaid sighed, “What condition?”
“Dresden," said Nicodemus and Harry jumped a little, "A five minute meeting between us."
Harry frowned, “What, why?”
"You have to concede something to me, Dresden," Nicodemus drawled, "If I am to allow someone else to join this meeting."
He didn't want to agree to it but what choice did he have? This was the best chance at getting Marcone back. If that happened then his favor to Mab was paid. That would free him to focus on the other issues in his life.
"Okay," he agreed quietly and Kincaid gave him an odd look.
"You sure, Dresden?" he asked, "You don't look good."
Harry's stomach rolled and his vision wavered. For a moment the ground seemed to tilt before righting itself. He gave a weak nod and reluctantly Kincaid left him with Nicodemus with a sharp warning. Once the door closed the silence was deafening. Harry could feel the Denarian's gaze on him and fought the urge to shrink under his stare. He gritted his teeth and tried to stand tall.
"Well, well, Harry," said Nicodemus softly, taking a step towards him, and a smirk on his lips, "It's not often that we are granted the luxury of a private talk, is it?"
"Fuck off, Nicky," said Harry with what little of a growl he could muster.
His reply, however, didn't have the desired effect. In fact, the opposite was true. The man's smirk widened at his words. He took another step closer and the wizard took an involuntary one back. Anduriel's shadow was at his back and stopped him from going any further. SHIT! His heart pounded in his chest and the panic was starting to rise. The shadows were thick and threatened to blanket him. Doing so would ground his magic and he'd be helpless. Well, more helpless than he was with the damage to his psyche and spirit.
"Oh, come now, Dresden," purred the Denarian, "You agreed to give me five minutes. Don't run so soon."
Harry froze remembering why he was here in the first place. To secure Marcone's release. To pay his debt to Mab. Five minutes was nothing compared to being in her debt. So, no, he wasn't going to run. He'd endure. At least as best as he could. The ground shifted and his stomach rolled at the same time. He leaned forward and vomited. The acidic bile burned at his throat and mouth. As the retching died down and he was able to breathe again there were gentle, calloused fingers on the back of his neck. They were cool and soothing to his overheated skin. He should have jumped away from the hand but he couldn't make himself move away. Not yet.
"I thought you looked pale," Nicodemus murmured, the usual arrogance absent from his voice, "Your Spirit has been utterly shredded. It's a wonder that you are even alive, let alone functioning. What have you done to yourself, Harry?"
He shuddered but didn't answer. He couldn't, not without puking his guts out. Instead he focused on the touch. Of the coolness, the gentleness, and the absence of malice. It was calming in a way that was foreign to him. Allowing him to relax and feel safe. Even though that was stupid. But, oh, did it ever feel nice. He flinched a little when the shadows moved at his back. Only to relax when they formed a wall of sorts to brace him. He slid down it so that he was sitting on the floor.
Nicodemus followed him down and crouched in front of him with his arms resting on his legs. The noose was swinging lazily in the air. His dark eyes were studying the Wizard. Searching his face for signs of deceit. There was none to be found. Harry didn't have the energy to hide anything from Nicodemus. It took everything in him to hide it from those who knew him best.
"Shall I hazard a guess?" asked Nicodemus without waiting for him to answer, "I heard you fought in the Raith Deeps a few months ago. Knowing the Raith family there was something there that was too much for you to handle alone. So as you do Dresden, you survived but not without severe damage to your psyche and spirit. Am I right?"
Harry blinked at the man. How did he know all of that? Wait, he was probably spying on him. Anduriel probably was able to do it fairly easily. No one was the wiser because no one would suspect that the shadows were watching them. He shuddered. Nicodemus's lips quirked up a little. He stood up and held out his hand, offering to help him stand. Harry hesitated. It could be a trick. Or a trap. However, his legs were shaky and his body protested moving in the slightest.
Slowly, he reached his own hand and placed it in the offered. Calloused fingers wrapped around his hand and helped him to his feet. He swayed a little and the grip shifted to steadying him. He swallowed and looked at the man, trying to understand what his game was. Nicodemus studied him in return and his expression softened.
"I had different plans to enact today," admitted Nicodemus his grip tightening, "But I have to admit, Dresden, that seeing you here like this has changed my mind. You, after all, are a far greater prize than the Archive."
WHAT? Nicodemus's goal was to get the Archive... Ivy was in danger.
He reached for his magic. Or would have if the shadows didn't lurch forward and engulf him. Panic welled in his chest and his breathing quickened. There was a sudden pressure on his head, pushing him down and forcing him to the ground. The shadows were like an ocean of ice water around him. It numbed him and the panic faded a little as the constant pain in his body was also numbed. It left him pliant and relaxed in the embrace. Anduriel had taken control of the situation. Taken the choice out of his hands. Leaving him in the position that the Denarian wanted him in. Which was laying on the floor unable to use his magic.
"Be calm, Harry," ordered Nicodemus in a soft voice yet firm, and his hand was once again on his neck, his thumb rubbing circles in the skin, "This is the best thing for all parties involved."
"I can't let you have Ivy," he hissed but it was weaker.
"And you aren't," assured Nicodemus, his voice was still low and gentle, and his fingers were carding through his hair, "She will leave here unharmed. Just like those who followed you here. My original plan was to have my men take her and injure the Hell Hound while we were at it. With you in your current state though, I've changed my mind. I'll even give you encouragement to not fight me further. Marcone will be released. Safe and sound. No ransom or threats to him or the Archive."
Harry paused. It sounded too good to be true. But, at the same time, the offer was almost perfect. Marcone would go free, his debt would be paid, and Ivy would be fine. So the question was why did the Denarian want him? He couldn't be a threat in his condition. Not that it mattered in the end. If he didn't agree to this then Ivy was in danger.
Sighing he forced his body to relax. The pressure from Anduriel lessened at the show of submission. He could feel the cold from the shadows seeping into his bones, spreading throughout his entire body. It was actually a relief. Almost pleasant.
"Shadow if you would," said Nicodemus and Harry felt Lash weakly shift within his mind.
The familiar brush of her presence brushed away his consciousness.
...
Nicodemus hummed as Dresden lost consciousness. It was easy enough to do since the Shadow was in his head. However, it helped that Dresden's will was practically non-existent. The damage to his psyche was severe and would have eventually led to his death if Nicodemus hadn't interfered. He pet the wizard's hair for a moment.
"Alright, Dresden, Archleone," called Kincaid as he entered, "Your time... What did I warn you about, Archleone?"
His voice was a growl and the gun was already out and pointed at him. Nicodemus sighed and stood up, his hand sliding from the unconscious man on the floor. He raised his other in a placating manner. There were some tense seconds as the Hellhound and himself stared each other down. Neither were willing to budge.
"Dresden has willingly agreed to come with me," declared Nicodemus easily, "In exchange, Baron Marcone will be released."
A smirk tugged at his lips when the man narrowed his eyes at him. His nose twitched though and he knew that the Hell Hound couldn't find a lie in his statement. That was the beauty of it. Dresden had, in fact, given up. This was still a neutral meeting which meant Kincaid had no legal reason to attack him. It would break the neutrality and would make his charge vulnerable. His first duty was to keep the Archive safe, no matter what.
Kincaid lowered his weapon. A look of annoyance on his face. One that was quickly schooled into a more impassive and bored expression. The Hell Hound moved to check on Dresden with a hand to the back of his neck. Checking his pulse. Once satisfied that the wizard was fine the man turned to him.
"If that is the deal you made," hissed Kincaid, "Then release Marcone, now."
"Done," agreed Nicodemus, and called to his shadows who would send the message out, "Magog, if you would, retrieve Baron Marcone. I'll meet you outside the aquarium in twenty minutes."
There was no answer from Magog. But there was no need for one either. He'd follow his commands. Now, he had to wait. A few minutes passed uncomfortably as Kincaid watched him with cold eyes. Then Magog appeared carrying a disgruntled and injured Marcone. The crime boss was set on his feet and the other Denarian left. Though he wouldn't be far.
Marcone took in the entire scene in a moment. Eyes going wide at the sight of the unconscious wizard on the floor. Nicodemus remembered the last time he fought against the wizard. The now Baron was just a criminal back then. He'd aided Dresden in stopping Nicodemus's plan back then. He wondered if the Baron would attempt to stop him.
"Archleone," said Marcone, his voice tight, "What is the meaning of this?"
"We made a trade," explained the Denarian, his tone smug, "Dresden has traded his freedom for yours."
There was a flicker of something in Marcone's eyes. A pit of jealousy rose in him. He didn't know that the two of them were involved in such a way. Maybe that was why he'd come to rescue the Baron despite his condition. Interesting...
"Now, if we are done," drawled Nicodemus and knelt next to the limp body, "I have places to be. I'm sure you do too."
Kincaid threw out a hand to stop Marcone from interfering. Both of their gazes were locked onto him. He ignored the hostility and threw one of Dresden's arms around his shoulders. Then his other arm under the wizard's side to support him. Carefully, he lifted his prize from the floor. Once standing, he pulled Dresden tightly to his side and headed towards the exit. No one stopped him. They could not.