#karrinmurphy

Harry looked at her, a soft smile touching his lips. Things had changed so much between them, since he had been a still-green apprentice to Nick Angel and she had been a beat cop who had stumbled on something that she had never seen before. Since she had looked at him with combative suspicion and he had habitually played his cards close to his chest around her, unwilling to fully let her into his mad, mad world of monsters and magic and violence.

He finished loading his revolver and set it down on the coffee table amidst all the other weapons. “I know.” Turning on the sofa, he put a hand on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. “And I trust you with mine. Always. Which is why I’m trusting you with this, Murph. I need someone to keep the shit from hitting the fan on this side of reality while I do what needs to be done over there.” 

He turned back to the table, picked up a pump-action shotgun-- one of Murphy’s tried and true Remington 870s-- and began loading rounds into it. “I’ve got to go in there alone. It’s the only way it’s getting done.”

You’ve been added!

Karrin didn’t smile back at him. She simply looked up at him in a way that spoke of nothing but suspicion and distrust. “That’s not something that helps your case.”

The last time a mysterious stranger approached him to make digs at his personal life, he had wound up in a hospital with his throat near torn out. The memory wasn’t especially endearing him to whomever this newcomer was, or their intentions. 

Their words, though... their words were hitting home. Good riddance. He’d kept telling himself that, over and over again, hoping that he’d eventually start to believe them. It was maddening, how the barely-contained rage, the pain of betrayal, the horror of his mind being violated all meshed together with his love, his longing, his need. 

And the memories...

The memories that had come flooding back...

So many of them were beautiful. 

Well, right up till he went and took them away.

Keeping one steady hand on his staff and the other hand hovering at his hip, where his revolver was nested in its holster beneath his duster, he raised his eyebrows and snorted. “Pretty sure it’s not even on the same planet as your business, pal. But go on. Keep poking. See what happens.”

“Gosh, you’re interested in things that have jack-all to do with you.” Harry crossed his arms and glowered. It didn’t bother him. Not really. Murphy was a free woman; he didn’t own her. Had no right to make her decisions for her-- even if this particular decision was monumentally idiotic and what the fuck did she see in that asshole anyway? The bastard had nearly killed him, for Christ’s sake. Stars and stones. Who goes and fucks their good friend’s would-be killer? That was all kinds of messed up.

And he wasn’t even going to start down the other rabbit hole this jerkwad had brought up, clearly referring to John. Nope. Not going there. That whole debacle was going to stay stuffed back in a far corner of his mind behind a steel-plated door where he didn’t have to think about... about...

(how John had--)

Anyway. Deep breaths. Exhale powder-keg, inhale calm. 

Okay, so maybe this stranger’s egging was bothering him a little bit.

“How about you try minding your own business? Pick a hobby. Croquet or something. Or, you know, going and fucking yourself with a goddamned cactus is always a good alternative.”

“What makes you think I’d try?”

Was it a thinly veiled threat? Just a little. Was it smart? Probably not. But then Dresden was bound to rub off on her at some point.

A small tilt of his head that could have been a shrug before he pulled a chair out for himself by hooking his ankle around one of its legs. 

He moved slowly, deliberately, as he reached out and placed something in the middle of the table between them. Something round, made of metal, with a small note attached to its chain.