Fandom: Dresden Files
Spoilers: None (except the existence of Billy)
Summary: Harry Dresden makes a phone call. Harry/Murphy. Written for draickinphoenix in the fandom_stocking exchange.
"And what do you want for Christmas, little girl?" I asked, as soon as Murphy picked up.
"Some peace and quiet," she retorted, but there was a smile in her voice. "What's up, Dresden?"
"Nothing, actually." Which made me, a long-standing paranoid loser, nervous, and would probably make Murphy, a long-standing cop (slightly higher status than paranoid loser), nervous too. "Looks like Santa got your letter."
"Then why are you calling?" Something rustled in the background; it sounded almost like she was wrapping things.
"Guy can't call just to talk?"
She snorted. "Guys don't call just to talk. Especially not you."
She had a point, but I wasn't going to admit it. "Ouch. I'm wounded, Murph."
"My heart weeps." Murphy was laughing at me. "What do you want, Harry?"
Okay. Here I go. If this didn't work out I was going to kill Billy. 'You should ask her out sometime,' my ass... "Want to go out for a beer tomorrow? I know a great pub."
The rustling stopped, and there was a brief pause before Murphy asked, carefully, "You mean, like a date? Or as friends?"
She had to ask that, didn't she. I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, then opened them again. "Up to you, Murph."
"No you don't," she retorted. "Don't weasel out, answer the question."
Hell's bells. I was really going to kill Billy.
"Well," I said, after a while. "I was kinda thinking date. Myself. You know. If you're interested."
Silence again. Billy was a dead man.
"Okay," Murphy said, suddenly, and startled me into nearly dropping the phone. "But I drive. I'm not taking any chances in that crapmobile of yours."
I laughed, suddenly feeling a lot better. "The Beetle is hurt, Murph. It is weeping tears of oil because you don't love it."
"It's weeping tears of oil because it's a piece of shit," she replied. "Now get off the phone, I'm busy."
"Sure thing, babydoll," I replied, and hung up before the inevitable comment. But hey, she'd agreed to a date, and if she wasn't expecting obnoxious pet names then she hadn't known me long enough.
Stars and stones. She'd actually agreed.
Maybe I'd let Billy off with a maiming.