Archive of Our Own ^beta

John Marcone was certain that Sunday dinner with an unsuspecting Carpenter family was a bad idea. He wasn't even sure there was a way to manipulate the outcome in his favor, and he didn't believe in no-win situations. He glanced at the man in the passenger seat of his Audi and suppressed a sigh at his own foolishness.

Then again, Harry wasn't in the most optimistic of moods, either. He looked like he was contemplating chewing glass. In a moment of compassion, John reached over, uncurled Harry's fist, and laced their fingers together. "Everything is going to be fine," he lied smoothly. Harry's answering look was at once grateful and skeptical. John sympathized and, he supposed, that's why he had agreed to this doomed endeavor. That and a deeply ingrained conviction that one does not refuse a clan matriarch's invitation to Sunday Dinner; so when Charity Carpenter had called Harry to echo her husband's invitation, there had really been no choice. It had been awhile for John, but he remembered that much about family dynamics.

He parked the car on the street in front of the Carpenter home. Harry had insisted on no driver, so his security team was following discreetly in a second car. It was rare that John went anywhere without Hendricks a step away; it was increasing his unease and sense of surreality.

He could handle meeting the family; people did it all of the time. He just wished this particular family had less reason to hate him personally. This time it was Harry who reached out to squeeze John's hand.

"They're good people." Harry paused, considering, then added, "Just be ready to duck if Charity reaches for the cutlery. She may actually be scarier than you are." He squared his shoulders and marched towards the door. "Might as well get it over with." He dropped John's hand to knock and didn't reach for him again. John made a concerted effort not to feel discomforted.

The door opened to reveal Molly Carpenter, Harry's apprentice, hater of drug dealers, and organized crime, and daughter of a good man who had been crippled saving John's crime lord, drug-running self. According to John's information on the family, Molly was the most likely to object to him. Loudly.

His impending sense of doom peaked.

Molly had a broad smile for Harry, and clearly intended to bestow it on her mentor's companion as well, until she realized who, exactly, was standing on her doorstep. The smile faded into a look of confusion and then shock. "What is he doing here?" She crossed her arms over her chest and glared, shifting to block the doorway with her body. John noted absently that she and Ms. Gard would make an excellent matched set.

Harry was bristling. "Hello to you, too, grasshopper." He sounded like he was making an effort to be polite; never a good sign. "We were invited, but I left the engraved stationary at home." John debated the pros and cons of putting a reassuring hand on the small of Harry's back and decided, as Harry was more likely to blow something up than Molly, it was an acceptable risk. He felt the wizard relax slightly at his touch and relaxed a bit himself.

"Molly?" An older female voice called faintly from the house. "Is that Harry and his friend?"

Molly was glaring daggers at John and yelled over her shoulder without taking her eyes off of him. "It's John Marcone!" There was a crash from inside the house.

"Molly--" Harry started, but she cut him off.

"You brought him here." She pointed an accusing finger at John, as if it weren't obvious who the dramatic-emphasis-him was. "You don't get to talk."

Harry was clearly winding up for a cutting remark when the impressive figure of Michael Carpenter loomed out of the hallway behind Molly. Michael, too, was staring at John, though he was less openly hostile. "Mr. Marcone," he started, then caught sight of Harry, and of John's hand on Harry's back. The former Knight's eyes widened in realization.

Harry was apparently still hurting from stifling whatever it was he had planned to say to Molly, because he held out his hands in the classic stage magician's big reveal position and said with a strained grin and barely-suppressed irritation in his voice, "Surprise!"

John slowly counted the ways that Harry was more useful alive. He was up to seven before it registered that Michael was laughing a full-body laugh, one still-powerful hand clutching the door jamb for stability. Molly looked like she'd bitten a lemon. John relaxed a little more and felt Harry do the same. He made a mental note to arrange massages for tomorrow to deal with the knotted muscles and tension from this adventure.

"Dad!" Molly sounded outraged. "How can you laugh?"

Michael, still chuckling, put a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, Molly, let's not keep Harry and Mr. Marcone on the doorstep just because Harry caught us off-guard again. Come in, gentlemen, and welcome."

This was Harry's family, so John had planned to follow his lead, but he recognized an in when he saw one. He stepped forward and, with his left hand still at Harry's back, reached out to shake with Michael. "Thank you, Mr. Carpenter. I appreciate the invitation." He drummed his fingers along Harry's spine and the wizard pulled an elegant wine carrier out of his battered duster.

"And we brought booze," Harry said, grudgingly. It had been like pulling teeth to get him to agree to bring a gift for their hosts. It was too much to ask that he was gracious about it.

"Thank you, Harry, John. I think at this point you should call me Michael. Let's take this in to Charity." He started into the house; John followed, stepping around Molly and leaving Harry behind. They were involved in some kind of intense wizardly glaring match.

John unmasked enough to give Michael a 'what can you do?' shrug that earned him another chuckle. They left the wizards in the foyer. John shortened his steps slightly so as not to out pace Michael. "I'm pleased to see you looking so well," he offered. Of course, he had sent flowers, an anonymous donation to St. Mary's on Michael's behalf, and discreetly taken care of the hospital bills at the time, but John found himself repressing another expression of thanks and apology. This man had almost died in the process of saving him; there really wasn't anything he could do to repay that.

Michael paused just outside the kitchen and turned to John. "I know you're more than your public image. I assume that since you're here, you're serious about your relationship with my friend." Michael smiled and cleared his throat self-consciously. "I had intended to use this time to tell Harry's companion that he's a good man in spite of how difficult being his friend can be, but I suppose you know that better than most."

John smirked back and agreed. "You're not wrong about that. Difficult in more ways than one, but I assure you, worth it to me to make it work." It was a promise; it was a threat. John was willing to bend his not inconsiderable influence to protect his relationship with Harry, even against well-meaning friends.

He relaxed imperceptibly at Michael's answering nod. Message understood. Maybe the sense of certain doom had been premature. This was something he could reasonably express gratitude for. "Thank you for not making this more difficult than it already is for him." Harry didn't have John's years of experience in dealing with the disapproval of friends and family for something as simple as whom he chose to love. John knew the process of telling people had been made more difficult by their disapproval of him personally.

"He's my friend. I want him to be happy." Michael gave him a measured look. "I didn't expect to host you in my home this evening, John, but I know Harry's always trusted you, even when he didn't like you. I'm glad he's been able to extend that trust to his everyday life. Don't let him down."

"I don't intend to." This was uncomfortably personal, but, on the balance, better than being socked in the jaw by a vampire. Michael rested a hand on John's shoulder momentarily -- it was like being patted by a bear you hoped was friendly -- and then pushed the door to the kitchen open and beckoned him in.

Charity Carpenter was presiding over four of her children as they chopped salad makings, prepared glasses with ice for drinks, and counted out plates. He could see the younger ones setting the table through the door to the dining room. It was such a comfortable, once-familiar scene that John felt his guard dropping even more. Charity turned to him with a polite smile, her gaze flickering quickly to the hall behind him and then back again.

"Harry and Molly are discussing some work things," Michael explained smoothly, ignoring the loud thump from the foyer.

"You mean Molly's yelling at Uncle Harry until he yells back," one of the girls said gleefully.

"Amanda!" Charity scolded the girl with nothing more than tone.

Michael was chuckling beside him again before moving into the room to stand beside his wife. "John, this is the family. My wife, Charity, and our children Daniel, Matthew, Amanda, and Hope," he said, pointing to each of the kids in the kitchen in turn. "Alicia and little Harry are setting the table. Everyone, this is Harry's friend John."

"It's a pleasure to meet you all." John smiled a rare genuine smile at the assembled family. They looked happy. They looked whole. In spite of everything, they had their father, and John felt a weight he'd barely known he was carrying lift from his mind.

"Hello, John!" the Carpenter children sing-songed at him after exchanging mischievous glances.

"What'd I miss?" Harry asked from behind him. John glanced back at him, then raised his eyebrows slightly at the Carpenters. One of the girls dissolved into giggles.

"We," John leaned hard on the pronoun, "were just about to thank Charity for the invitation, Harry. I'm so glad you're able to be here for it."

"I was busy!"

"Mmm," John hummed a non-committal response before turning his most charming smile on the lady of the house. "You have a lovely home and family. Harry and I both appreciate your having us." He waited a beat and then nudged Harry with his elbow, prompting another round of giggles.

"Uh, yeah. Thanks, Charity."

Charity's polite smile had turned into something more sincere as she watched them, and there was open amusement dancing in her eyes. "You're welcome. Dinner will be ready shortly. Matthew will get your drinks." John turned to the younger of the teenage boys and agreed that water would be fine for him, and a Coke for Harry, while Harry was explaining to Charity that Molly had gone to her room, but would join them for dinner.

John accepted his water and leaned back against a spare bit of counter, letting the homey atmosphere soak in. He watched with a faint smile as Charity scolded Harry for upsetting Molly with the same breath that she gave him a handful of serving spoons to carry to the table. Michael was carving a pair of beautiful roast chickens, and the oldest boy, Daniel, was uncovering steaming casseroles of vegetables.

John looked down as the youngest girl approached him almost shyly. "Are you really John Marcone?" she asked earnestly.

"I am," John answered. He was turning over several reasons for her question and considering possible answers that would do the least damage.

"Did you really save my Dad and Uncle Harry from a demon on a train?"

John's face went totally blank and his gaze jerked up to find Harry, who was being pressed into service carrying drinks to the table, and then to Michael, who was arranging the carved chicken on a platter. Neither of them were looking at him, although he saw Charity watching him thoughtfully while she dressed the salad.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked, wondering what her angle was, and then scolding himself for being suspicious of a little girl.

"Mr. Sanya told us all about it! There were cultists and monsters and demons, but no explosions." She sounded disappointed about the explosions. "Is it true?"

"I also find it hard to believe when stories about Harry Dresden lack explosions," John said, one corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. "I believe I do have to tell you that that time, though, there were none. It's true."

She glared at him suspiciously. There; that was the look he was expecting from all of them. "And you were really there?"

"That's right."

"Mr. Sanya said you and Uncle Harry shot a demon in the back so he couldn't hurt my dad."

"Mr. Sanya gives a lot of details to little girls."

"I'm eleven," she said, with all the scorn of someone who had recently been only ten. "And the good guys won in the end."

"My apologies, Miss Carpenter," John said gallantly, his thoughts racing to re-order themselves around this new perspective. The good guys. Huh.

"Hope," Charity's voice cut off another question from the girl. "Go tell your sister it's time for dinner."

John made his way to Harry's side and put a hand lightly on his back. He murmured quietly into his wizard's ear, "You must have ensorcelled these people. They are the nicest family in the world; where do you fit in?"

"Feeling like a shark out of water?" Harry muttered back. "Don't worry, I won't ask you to lie down with the lambs very often."

"You're mixing your metaphors."

"I'll show you a mixed metaphor," Harry growled.

"Not in front of the family, dear," John said as syrup-y sweet as he could in sotto voce, then smirked at Harry's sputtering. Provoking that reaction was still among his favorite hobbies. The ability to tease the wizard more than once a year was probably worth enduring family meals.

Harry glared at him and led the way into the dining room. The long, heavy wooden table was flanked by practical benches. No doubt the Carpenter household was open and welcoming to the children's friends and schoolmates as well as errant wizards and mafia bosses. The seating arrangements meant he ended up at the end of the table, thigh-to-thigh with Harry and across from Michael and Charity. The children filled in down the table, leaving an empty place setting to Harry's other side.

Molly appeared just as the wait was starting to get uncomfortable and after, John noticed with amusement, little Harry had already eaten his entire salad sneakily, one chubby handful at a time. Molly marched regally to her seat by Harry. John turned to greet her, "Miss Carpenter." It was apparently a miscalculation.

The bustle of serving food that had started when she appeared stopped again when she snapped, "Don't you 'Miss Carpenter' me like you're a nice guy, Gentleman Marcone."

John felt Harry stiffen beside him and although he had gone just as tense, he spread his hand soothingly over his lover's knee.

"Molly," Charity's voice rang out before anyone else could speak, "you will keep a civil tongue or you will leave this table." Her eyes were flashing and John could picture a battle axe over her shoulder. He wouldn't have engaged her directly. Molly, on the other hand, didn't hesitate.

"No! I don't understand why you're all going along with this. He," and John got the accusing finger again, "is a criminal who is responsible for so much pain and," her voice was increasing in volume over her mother's protests, "has clearly used some kind of influence on Harry, who won't let me check."

"Enough."

Michael spoke firmly just as Harry growled, "There is nothing wrong with my mind."

"You're not even gay!"

John felt the blood draining from his face. The older Carpenter children all unsuccessfully tried to hide reactions to the pronouncement. The younger ones were just wide-eyed, looking between their red-faced mother and their completely still father.

"That's none of your damn business," Harry snapped.

"I said enough." When Michael raised his voice, everyone turned to him. He looked at John first. "I'm sorry, John."

"She's not wrong," John said, back stiff and face expressionless, as it had been since Molly sneered his nom de guerre at him. "You," he nodded to Michael and Charity, "have nothing to apologize for." He wasn't quite able to convey his usual polite demeanor, but he got close enough that only Harry was likely to notice.

Molly looked gobsmacked that he'd agreed with her. Harry was back to looking like glass was on the menu with nails for dessert. John started rubbing slow circles on the inside of Harry's knee with his thumb in time to his own internal mantra. 'Control. Control. Control.'

"You're a guest in our home and have every right to expect to be comfortable," Charity countered, not taking her eyes from her fuming daughter.

"And," Michael continued, "we support Harry and his choices."

John repressed the urge to ask if they'd ever met Harry. Barely. Mostly because Molly beat him to it.

"Are you kidding me?! Let's recap. Harry is straight. And a white hat. And suddenly he brings home John Marcone and everyone is fine with this?"

"I'm still here, you know. In case anyone wanted my opinion," Harry said sourly.

"You're mind-controlled; you can't be trusted."

"I can assure you, Miss Carpenter, that he is not mind-controlled."

"Yeah? What about you? Just woke up one morning and had to have a man?"

"Molly!"

John's stomach clenched. He was astoundingly grateful for Harry's fingers lacing through his and realized he must have bruised the wizard's knee with his convulsive grip. "I am not having this discussion." He was using his most controlled voice, quiet and a little raspy with intensity.

"I liked 'none of your damn business,' personally," Harry growled. "You want to keep fighting with me about this? Fine. But John's right; not here."

Molly looked from Harry to her parents and then at John. He stared her down; he really wasn't interested in a soulgaze with her, but he refused to back down. She smirked at him, turned on her heel, and left the room.

The prominent silence left in her wake was broken by six-year-old Harry's piping voice. "What's 'gay' mean?"

In the midst of snickers and shushing, Harry's voice sounded clear beside him. Addressing, of all people, the Lord. "Dear God, I'm sure you're used to listening to this table, so I thought I'd call in a favor -- please let the ground swallow me. Amen." He attempted to make the sign of the cross and mostly flailed. John executed the ritual with long familiarity, fervently echoing Harry's 'amen.'

The older Carpenters stared at them in amazement. Daniel and Alicia were valiantly trying to get their younger brother to stop using his new favorite reaction-getting word. The overwhelming ridiculousness of the whole situation finally got to John. He'd just been told off by a twenty-year-old girl over his choice of romantic partner, in front of said partner and an entire family. People lived and died on his word, and some of the most powerful people in the world were afraid of him, and here he sat, embarrassed and anxious and getting yelled at like anyone else whose potential in-laws disapproved. He couldn't help it, he started chuckling.

It broke the tension, anyway, and he waved off the apologies and concern with his newly-rediscovered composure. He slid his hand further up Harry's leg to distract him, and it kept the wizard from prolonging the discomfort any further. Really, he should have felt up Harry earlier in life; it could have prevented so many inconvenient outbursts.

Dinner was finally served, closer to room temperature than hot, but it wasn't bad. The other Carpenters did their best to make up for Molly's rudeness and soon it was lost in the flow of conversation about the upcoming week, school, softball, Harry's gaming group, and the other minutia of a family dinner. By the time dessert was served, John had almost calmed down enough to participate in the conversation beyond bland generalities.

"That could have been worse," John said faux-brightly once they were back in the car.

"How, by including a screening of Highlander II?"

"You know, you're right. It was awful." John looked sideways at Harry, deadpan. "You owe me, Dresden. You owe me for sitting through it all."

Harry sat up abruptly from his slump in the passenger's seat and looked at John suspiciously. "And I suppose you have a payment in mind?"

John smiled a small, self-satisfied smile. "Come home with me, Harry, and we can open negotiations on the matter."