Summary: Lily really doesn't want James to go to work.

Written for HPFC "Dialogue Challenge"

Rules:

1. You have to include the prompt I give you as a piece of dialogue in your story.

2. You choose the pairings and the rating (But no M or higher ratings).

Prompts:

"I used all my sick days so I called in dead."

"An idiot is a window washer on the 78th floor who stands back to admire their work."

"If two wrongs don't make a right, try three."

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Lily watched James get dressed, careful not to open her eyes too wide, or else he'd notice. He was kind of blind without his glasses, but big green eyes staring at you are kind of hard to miss, even if you are as blind as James Potter.

Potter. The word ran a thrill through her, still after a week of having become Mrs. Potter.

"James," she whined, as he put on his pants, "Can't you not go today? We barely even got a honeymoon," she complained.

He paused, then frowned at her, grabbing blindly for his glasses on the nightstand beside him. His hand paused on her underwear, and he smiled, before he shook his head, frowning through his newly found glasses at he peered reproachfully down at her.

"Lily, I already called in sick yesterday," he said to her, sounding more like a father than the young, horny boy he really was.

"Two wrongs make a right," she said to him quickly. Then, seeing as she wouldn't persuade him any other way, she grabbed his shirt, curling up into a ball so he couldn't get it. He couldn't leave without his shirt…

"No, they don't Lily," he said lovingly, while patiently pulling out another shirt.

Damn him.

"Well," she thought for a moment, "If two wrongs don't make a right, try three!"

Despite himself, he laughed at her, "I love you Lily."

Still after all these years, after all these times, a thrill still shot through her when she heard those words.

"Besides," he asked, frowning at her, "What do I tell Moody?"

She was never a fan of his serious boss. "Say… say… Oh!" There was a wicked glint in her eyes, "You've used all your sick days, right?"

He nodded.

"Well then tell him you're dead."

"Excuse me?"

As if she was talking to a three year old, Lily repeated her words, "Tell him you're dead."

James, humoring her, pulled a quill and a piece of parchment from his desk, writing a couple words on it, before stepping back and admiring his handiwork.

"Dear Moody," he read, "I used all my sick days, so I'm calling in dead." He finished, looking at her for approval.

There was a pause as the couple stared at each other, and she knew he was thinking the exact same thing, "He'd believe you too," she giggled.

He laughed along with her, falling onto the bed even. She took advantage of his position, quickly pressing her body against his, feeling him react before he quickly stepped away, smoothing his pants in an attempt to mask how much he wanted her, "Lily, we can't."

She was quite put out by his refusals, really.

"James," she said, laughter gone from her voice, "if you walk out the door, you're an idiot."

"An idiot is a window washer on the 78th floor who stands back to admire their work," he intoned seriously.

It was an old adage he and Sirius used occasionally – Lily knew it well.

"Well," she said, quite seriously, "You wouldn't want to fall from the 78th floor, would you James?" She wrinkled her nose, "That's quite a long drop."

He frowned, but behind his round glasses, his eyes were twinkling, "It is, isn't it," he asked, pulling off his shirt, "And well… that would be quite uncomfortable. I guess I should try to avoid falls like that as much as possible, shouldn't I?"

Lily nodded as he thumped on the bed beside her. She would have said more, but he kept her from speaking.

Needless to say, James didn't go to work that day.