One Shot
After a very long week filled with multiple deaths (not all human), burned buildings (not all his fault), and various other catastrophes (not at all acceptable!), Harry was actually having a really good day.
With the most recent bad guy defeated, the current client happy, and all his bills paid for the foreseeable, all that was left was relaxation. Plus a few household tasks.
DIY was definitely not Harry's strong suit, but due to whatever deity it was that was currently shining on him, it was going well for once. He replaced the door to his apartment so that it both opened and closed, restacked his bookshelves without any of the paperbacks falling on his head, and finally managed to find a way to get rid of that lingering zombie smell.
Sitting down to admire his handiwork, he belatedly realized he should have grabbed a coke from the ice cooler before doing so, because he had no intention of getting up again for a good long while. Maybe he could teach Mouse to fetch, or…
Even as he thought it, the point was rendered moot as Susan came out of the kitchen carrying a bottle for each of them, swaying her hips as she approached him. She was only wearing one of his t-shirts, though it practically drowned her.
Harry was so caught up in watching her, it took him a moment to register that something wasn't right. Something was out of place. Something… but what was it?
He shook his head, deciding that it mustn't matter. Thinking things through could wait 'till Monday. Or whenever the next client called with a case. Maybe Harry would even get a whole week off if things were slow and no one got in contact. He could get on board with that.
Gratefully accepting the drink from Susan, Harry felt a thrill of desire flash through him as their fingers brushed each other against the cool glass. He looked up at her, smiling, but there it was again. That nagging something.
Focusing his attention on his beautiful bride's face, he saw it shifting between Susan's features and Murphy's.
Well, that didn't seem right at all.
"What's wrong?" the Susan-Murphy-hybrid asked, placing herself in his lap and snuggling against him.
Harry frowned, not able to form words. It wasn't that the woman curled against his chest was unpleasant – far from it – but hadn't there been an alarm bell ringing?
"Hmm?" his lady pressed, literally pressing ever closer to him. He reached out a hand to hold her there, still overwhelmed with the feeling that something was amiss.
He'd reached out his left hand.
His perfectly healthy, not at all marked or scarred left hand.
Hmm indeed, thought Harry. The frown between his eyebrows deepened further until the scene before him froze, and Lasciel walked out of his kitchen following the same path Susan had.
She had her hands on her hips.
"Can't you ever just accept anything at face value and enjoy yourself?!" she exclaimed, shaking her head.
Looking between her and Susan-cum-Karen, Harry sighed, using a conscious effort of will to wake himself up.
...
Waking up to dislocated joints and hellfire, he suddenly remembered why he'd passed out in the first place.
"I gotta get myself a desk job," he grumbled to himself, feeling stiffness in more than just his joints as he dragged himself to his feet. "And a girlfriend."
