(Please Read the) Author's Note: Hello again, sports fans. Sorry about the lengthy delay between updates, I've been dealing with some personal stuff lately that's kept me from writing. Thank you for all the reviews of the last chapter, despite my screw-ups. I am but a mere mortal – I get brainfogged on occasion (it's the meds, yo). Forgiveness please, and constructive criticism is always welcome (and preferred to the alternatives). I will go back and make the edits in due time.
A big thank-you to reviewer laurabeckinsale for setting things straight about the soulgaze; it is truly appreciated.
This installment is a flashback set during Blood Rites, just after the smackdown on Mavra's scourge. It's definitely more introspective than action-heavy, since it's a character study after all, but I hope you enjoy it anyway.
You can't feel the heat until you hold your hand over the flame
you have to cross the line just to remember where it lays
—'Satellite,' Rise Against
It was no secret – Harry Dresden was a lonely person.
His apartment, despite its usual state of bachelor-generated chaos, was cozy and had, like the boardinghouse that contained it and the man that occupied it, a lot of character. So much so that one almost didn't note the complete lack of photos; no family portraits in Christmas sweaters, no snapshots at Disneyland. The picture of Susan and the other things that had been on the mantel were gone. In their place was a plain katana in a wooden sheath, a single Japanese character carved into the hilt. It looked a lot like the swords over her own fireplace, but much older. And much sharper.
He had told her what it was and at one time, she would have never believed it.
Lately, though, she wasn't so sure about anything.
Karrin stared at the sword a moment longer, then turned and walked into Harry's room. His leather coat was heavy around her shoulders, over her black t-shirt, Kevlar vest and underwear, since she'd lost her jeans to an antipersonnel mine in a basement full of vampires while trying to rescue a bunch of kids, accompanied by a mercenary who could see infrared tripwires unaided and a wizard armed with a holy-water paintball gun.
A frown touched her features as she looked around, fully aware that her life was fucking weird and that once Harry snapped out of it, she was never, ever going to live down pink panties with little white bows.
Hell, at least they were cute. And she may not have pants, but she still wore the metaphorical boots. All the same, the injustice still rankled. It was never a guy who ended up partially naked in dire situations.
…Except for Dresden, but she always seemed to miss out on those.
She peered out the door before pulling it shut. Harry was on the couch in the living room, regarding the opposite wall with a thousand-yard stare. His face was smudged with soot and he was pale, but it wasn't the clammy pallor of someone going into shock. This was something else, something awful –not just the extent of the burns, but the way he had shut down.
Most people would still be screaming.
She had wrapped his hand in gauze while they were in the truck and told McCoy to take him to the hospital as soon as they had dropped the kids off with Forthill, but Dresden mumbled a protest – he didn't have time to go to the hospital, not with entropy curses still flying around Chicago. He was probably right, but that didn't mean she had to be happy about it. And it didn't assuage the shivering worry in her stomach, made worse by the adrenaline that still hummed in her veins.
The terror had passed, but when she closed her eyes she could still see the shadowy basement and Harry, tall and dark as Death himself, backlit by fire. If it wasn't for him they'd all be dead. Or worse than dead, she thought, as the memory-echo of Mavra's laugh sent chills down her spine.
Vampire bitch.
She shoved the thought aside and looked around again. It wasn't a big room by any standards. A rectangular window near the basement ceiling threw a shaft of hazy afternoon light across the room. Books were stacked in haphazard towers and ranged from graphic novels to airport paperbacks to a few textbooks printed in Latin. There was a Star Wars poster on one wall. Several half-burned candles sat on the dresser and none of the drawers were shut properly – socks and a pair of black pajama pants printed with old-school Lost in Space robots attempted to escape.
It certainly didn't look like the room of someone who could bend the elements to his will.
Smiling a little at the thought, Karrin slipped out of the coat and laid it neatly across the bed, then wiggled out of the Kevlar. She dug through a laundry basket and came up with a pair of running shorts, which fell well below her knees when she put them on, and threatened to fall off completely if she had to move quickly, so she knotted the drawstring a few times to avoid a secondary wardrobe malfunction.
On the shelf by the bed was a Mickey Mouse alarm clock, a can of Coke and leather-bound book— a journal, maybe, with a pen stuck a quarter of the way in. Temptation almost led her to pick it up and leaf through; a major invasion of privacy, but to be fair he had just seen her without pants.
Karrin resisted, stumbling over a pair of cowboy boots on her way to the tiny bathroom where she scrubbed soot and sweat from her face with a washcloth. There was no mirror over the sink, the lack of which explained Dresden's hair, typically varying in style from "I just woke up," to "I just woke up and was subsequently attacked by the undead."
There was no hot water. No lights. No cellphones or computers.
But – magic. It used to be a silly word without a tangible meaning; poison apples, glass slippers, true love's kiss.
It was real, and Murphy had been personally educated in the darker aspects of it by a madman's ghost. Magic in the wrong hands was black and corrupting and when it was finished with you it left a vacant place in your soul that kept you awake at night, too ashamed to acknowledge what it had done to you.
As violating as the experience had been, it had afforded her the opportunity to understand Harry Dresden a little better. She knew now why he would face problems completely alone rather than ask for help – power equaled responsibility, responsibility called for sacrifice and it was easier to build walls and burn bridges than to see the people you cared about caught in the crossfire. She understood that magic in the right hands was enchanted sleep and fire that chased away the shadows, a string tied around her finger.
So you won't forget.
Karrin hadn't forgotten – for every bad thing there was something good, an equal and opposite reaction even though it didn't always seem that way. Even though sometimes they had to take it upon themselves to be that reaction. Even if it meant getting hurt and crossing the lines they tried to stay inside.
She gathered up his coat and her Kevlar and slipped back out into the living room. She dropped the vest in the recliner with her duffel bag and gun belt, then hung up the coat by the front door.
Harry was still on the sofa, a glass of something amber in his uninjured hand. The little gray dog was stretched out in puppy-sleep next to him, all four legs in the air. Mister was on top of a bookshelf, and the kettle whistled softly while McCoy looked through the cabinets. She padded over on bare feet and reached up into the shallow cupboard over the sink, felt around for the handle of a mug and handed one to him.
"Much obliged."
She leaned against the icebox, absently straightening the pizza coupons, takeout menus and one bizarre grocery list as she inwardly debated going to get the last refill on an old Vicodin prescription. Even wizards need painkillers.
She had heard the confrontation between the mercenary and McCoy, though, and didn't want to leave Harry alone with anyone until he was coherent enough to defend himself.
The old man seemed likable enough and it was strange to hear Dresden talk to anyone in a tone approaching respect, but still…
Kincaid was another story altogether. A hired gun, good at what he did, but as far as she could tell he was pretty much the Anti-Harry; shorter, blond and an asshole instead of tall, dark and obnoxious. Seemingly amoral instead of suicidally noble. Obviously as dangerous, in his own right.
…And she was definitely attracted to him – Kincaid, not Dresden, although Harry had a number of good qualities if she was going to be perfectly honest, all of which made him ineligible for the sort of relationship she preferred.
Attracted to him and resented it. The jerk hadn't been the least bit hesitant to get her out of her jeans, which was both extremely annoying and disturbingly exciting. Karrin had been irritated about it, to be sure, but Harry had looked downright livid. The man had a chivalrous streak a mile wide and was all but some spandex and a theme song from superhero status and sometimes she wasn't so sure about the theme song.
He had taken a few good-natured jabs at her lack of pants – he never let the opportunity for a joke go to waste, but then he had put his coat around her shoulders because Harry was Harry and even getting napalmed couldn't stop him from being A Nice Guy.
"Lieutenant," Ebenezar said, turning toward her. Steam curled from the mug he held out, accompanied by the smell of chamomile. She accepted it with a murmur of thanks and felt a wave of fatigue wash over her as she took a sip. He picked up a bottle from the kitchen table and shuffled over to where Dresden sat.
"Here, Hoss." He poured another inch of scotch into the glass. Harry drank it in a kind of reflexive obedience and his teacher stomped back over to where she stood.
"I wish there was something I could do."
"He'll come around. Give it a bit," the old man replied, giving her a thoughtful look. "Are you two—"
"No," she heard herself interrupt. "We're just friends."
But not just friends. No one could be merely friends after all they had been through together. She pushed everyone away, but Harry was the one who always fought past her defenses. For all the chauvinistic teasing, he treated her like an equal. He trusted her, trusted in her ability to take care of herself, had faith in her when her own faith wavered. He made her realize that things could always be worse, though she wanted to tell him he didn't have to lead by example on that one.
He was probably the closest friend she had and the realization that it was mutual stung.
McCoy regarded her in silence for a moment, a sort of restrained amusement in his expression when he spoke again.
"Are you two gonna be alright here? I can do something for that hand, but I need to go get a few things first."
"Yeah," Murphy nodded, feeling her face flush. He continued, pretending not to notice.
"That was a brave thing to do, going down there with them. He's lucky to have somebody like you on his side, and I'm glad for it, too."
She ducked her head, unable to reply – Karrin was far more accustomed to being doubted than complimented.
"That boy's had a rough time of it. Doesn't help that he tends to act before he thinks, gets him in a mess of trouble. You'll keep an eye on him for me? Try to keep him in line?"
His meaning was clear enough – "I'm trusting you to look after a person I care about, since I can tell you care about him, too."
"I will," she said, softly.
"Alright. I'll be back in an hour or so."
McCoy gathered his belongings and disappeared out the door. Murphy picked up the little gray puppy and cuddled him in the crook of her arm, then sat down next to Harry. He'd keep the dog, she was certain. Dresden had a soft spot where kids and animals were concerned – something that couldn't be negated by leather coats or attitude problems or the carrying of big sticks.
"Hey, Stilts." She took the glass of scotch from his hand before it spilled and set it on the coffee table. "It's gonna be okay."
Harry gave her a sideways glance that seemed to convey skepticism though his expression hadn't changed.
"Promise," she said, and drew an X over her heart with one finger, but he caught her hand and held it tight for a moment, his head bowed, eyes shut.
Guilt, sudden and severe, weighed on her for the way she had resented her family in front of him when he would have loved to be able to go to a stupid barbecue. What did it say about her that she preferred monster-slaying to family reunions?
Karrin Murphy was lonely by choice.
To be continued...