The Dresden Files/Codex Alera is copyright Jim Butcher. This story is licensed under the Creative Commons as derivative, noncommercial fiction.

(Really Long) Author's Note: This was inspired by a prompt from the last Day By Drabble event (see below). Unfortunately I didn't finish in time, but the story turned out to be too long to post there, anyway. It ended up as a chaptered series from Murphy's perspective, set precisely a year after Harry's death, with a couple of flashbacks.

I think Murphy's smart enough to work it out (for the most part), having been a detective and all, but I can see her getting burned out pretty quick without Harry around, which is the direction I went with this fic. The hopeless romantic in me is rooting to see their reunion go like this, but it probably won't. Kind of nervous about posting this, I haven't done a chaptered story in quite some time. Here goes nothin'.

DBD Blue Skies Prompt #31:

Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.


A whole year.

It was fall again, and raining feebly. The sunset was belligerently orange beneath storm clouds, reflected and refracted in the glass of skyscrapers and the water beaded on marble and granite.

Karrin hadn't been here in ages. Not since he had taken down Kravos. Not since they had put that bastard in the ground.

It had been raining then, too.

Butters had asked her to go with him. It was a Jewish thing, he'd said, marking the anniversary of a death. They drove to the cemetery together and cleaned a few fallen leaves from around the open, empty grave. There were a few things left at the base of the headstone—a little plastic dinosaur, a faded Polaroid and a plain silver ring that, when she saw it from the corner of her eye, seemed to glow faintly pink, independent of the evening light.

The ME had brought a brown paper bag, from which he drew a stumpy white candle and a grinning jack-o-lantern carved out of a pie pumpkin. He assembled it next to the marker, lit the candle and stepped back to stand next to her.

Karrin nodded approvingly, lips set in a tight smile. She still held her offering in chilled fingers; a dozen red roses wrapped in green paper. Butters hadn't questioned her when she came out to the car with flowers in hand, though she had seen his curious glance. She didn't explain that it wasn't a romantic gesture so much as an inside joke.

Harry had sent her roses once, when they ended up in the ICU together. She had thrown them in his face. That had been a long time ago, longer than she really liked to think about, but she could still hear his laughter ringing down the hospital corridor.

"I think I'll stay a while."

"Are you sure?" the ME asked. She nodded. He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and left.

Karrin looked around, as if to make sure no one was watching, then sat in the yellowed grass next to the marble marker. She pulled her knees against her chest and wrapped her arms around them, huddled beneath her Cubs jacket.

Thunder rumbled encouragingly overhead, but it took every last scrap of courage she had to speak aloud.

"Hey. It's me. Sorry to keep you waiting."

The silence that followed was almost a tangible object, heavy and suffocating. She drew in a shuddering breath, pushing damp hair from her face. This was supposed to be cathartic. This was supposed to make her feel better, supposed to be closure.

The flame of the candle flickered mockingly behind the eyes of the jack-o-lantern.

Numbly, her hands went to her neck and loosened the clasp of something she had worn longer than either of her wedding rings – a strand of black leather with a little silver shield hanging from it, part key to an apartment, part tracking device.

She could clearly remember the day he'd given it to her, randomly, while they were sitting in traffic. He'd said it was a replacement for the wooden one he'd given her the year before, a shield 'because you're a cop, haha, geddit?'

She had seen the empty spot on the bracelet he wore, though, and either it meant a lot or it meant nothing at all, and she'd never had the nerve to ask.

Too late now.

Karrin stared at it for a moment before she dropped the amulet onto the wet stone. She put the flowers next to it, trying not to look into the shadowy depths of the open grave that yawned a few inches from her feet.

"Things have been – well, to tell the truth, it's been really, uh. Really fucking boring. I don't know how you always managed to make mortal peril seem like fun, but it's not the same without you. So…yeah."

The rain began to fall more heavily as the sun hesitated on the horizon.

"Um…I've been teaching the Carpenter kids self-defense. Charity made them these little uniforms and everything. The newest one, she's a good kid. Has a bit of an attitude problem, though, which I think is hereditary. And a talent for groin kicks, but I taught her that."

This lopsided conversation was more painful than she had expected – she felt she would have given anything to hear a wiseass comeback or some ridiculous non sequitur, but the night remained as silent and empty as the cemetery plot on which she sat.

"We miss you – I miss you. A lot. See there, I said it. I'm not the heartless bitch everybody claims."

She picked up the Polaroid and smoothed a crease out of one corner, just to have something to do with her hands. The picture had been blurry before it had been left out in the elements, but it was definitely Harry, and even on paper his grin was contagious.

She bit her lip and left the photo where she found it.

"I put on the boots. You remember that," she said, and sank into the memory as it conjured up a warm summer night and a Walmart parking lot "I lied. It's been hell without you. You always made it look so easy, and I don't know h-how much more I can take. I'm so tired."

The tears she had been fighting finally spilled over and her face tipped into her hands. When she spoke again, her voice was louder, torn from her like a bandage from a wound.

"Did you think I wouldn't figure it out?"

It had started with a feeling she'd had since stepping onto the boat to find nothing but blood and a bullet hole. It had been easier to ignore her uncertainties while the world was coming apart at the seams, easier to put it all aside and focus on fighting. She had spent the better part of six months in utter denial, running the show from behind a façade of stoicism and convincing herself that he'd walk in the door any moment.

And then, as suddenly as he had disappeared, he was back to haunt her. Literally. Because apparently Harry Dresden was too stubborn to let a silly little thing like death get in his way. But she couldn't believe it – that would mean he was dead. That she'd never see him again, no more smiles, no more laughs, no more corny jokes. No more chances to see if they could work things out, and before she had the opportunity to say her piece, he was gone.

For good.

And while Karrin could spend six months vehemently refusing to accept that he might be dead, she couldn't resist the compulsion to solve a mystery. Her subconscious had taken over the investigation while the rest of her was eye-deep in denial.

Just the facts, ma'am.

What little evidence there was spoke volumes. There had been no trace of another person on board or even on a nearby boat, no sign of the struggle he would have undoubtedly put up had it been a face-to-face encounter. No smoking craters where a death curse had been spent.

A lot of people had wanted Harry dead, to be sure, but an anonymous hit just wasn't the style of the various supernatural entities he had managed to piss off – the fact that no one had stepped up to claim the kill was proof enough. It had been efficient, impersonal, professional.

Clearly, it hadn't been a crime of opportunity. The shooter had obviously followed him to the boat. Had obviously waited for her to leave.

Whoever had done it had been very good.

Jared had stopped answering his phone months ago. About twelve months ago, if she was counting. At first she had attempted to justify it but the rational side of her knew his silence was intentional.

Part of her was still feebly protesting – it was impossible, couldn't be true because her world would shatter into a million pieces. The other part could see cold, reasonable logic, and she was exhausted from trying to protect herself from the truth.

The rest of their ragtag little group expected her to solve Harry's murder, and since May she had been going through the motions, half-heartedly pursuing the case, even though in the back of her mind, she knew.

It hadn't been easy getting the call logs for Kincaid's 'work' number. The channels she had gone through weren't exactly orthodox. Or cheap. He covered his tracks well and it was a long shot – she had fiercely hoped that nothing would turn up.

One number on the list had caught her eye – one with a Chicago area code. One of St. Mary's many phone lines, according to Google. The date matched the day they had left for Mexico.

Karrin still didn't know the specifics of what had happened between the fire at Harry's apartment and the vampire attack on the FBI building. Sanya said that he'd been hurt pretty badly, that they had gone to the church, and that Harry had made a deal with Mab.

Mab, whom he had previously tried so hard to avoid because a deal with her was tantamount to selling your soul. He had pulled out all the stops to rescue his daughter, called in a lot of favors owed him, and for months she wondered why he hadn't asked Kincaid for an assist.

She'd never considered that maybe he had.

She had almost forgotten how Harry tried to wiggle out of a deal with the Fae before…by almost killing himself. He didn't want to be controlled, turned into something he wasn't. He would have rather died, and his words kept running through her head, stuck in an infinite loop.

I'm not planning a suicide run, if that's what you're thinking.

"I think—I think I know, now, and I'm pretty sure I understand why, but I don't know how you could do this to me. To us. And I don't know if I can forgive you yet."

She bowed her head, equal parts betrayed, angry and ashamed that she hadn't noticed before it was too late, that she had blown off what had been so difficult for him to say that day in Tilly's office.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For a lot of things – for all the times I didn't believe you. And for never giving you a chance. I loved you, you know. I don't think I ever said it loud enough for you to hear. I'm sorry we never… I'm just sorry."

And as much as she wanted a reply, she wasn't ready when she got one.

"Me too."


to be continued...