Productive Day
Title: Productive Day
Author: TigerKat24

Rating: G
Summary: Harry has an interesting sense of timing.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Mr. Butcher.
Spoilers: None.
Author's Note: Presupposes a relationship. Written for 100moods prompt 77, Productive. For Pris, because her day sucked.


“Hey, Murphy?” Harry asked offhandedly one day in a dark alley, sweeping his staff around and clocking his current opponent in the head.
“Yeah?” she responded, sighted, and shot the knees out from under a thrall.
“Got a question for you.”
She grunted as another thrall got close enough to hit her shoulder, and took him down with three brief, sharp movements. “Is this really the time?”
“Dunno. I remembered just now, is all. Forzare!” The forming line of thralls at the mouth of the alley blew apart under a wall of force.
“Somehow I feel like that doesn’t bode well for me.”
Harry gave her a startled glance. “Well, why wouldn’t it? Duck!” She dropped to a crouch without question; he swung his blasting rod around and took an attacker off her back.
Murphy shot him the briefest version of her Look and said, “Something you remembered in the middle of a—Jesus!—fight?” Another quick aim-and-fire moment and the thrall charging directly for them went down and tripped his friend, sending him sprawling at her feet.
“In the middle of a date,” Harry corrected her, and took care of the friend with a staff to the head. “It’s not my fault it got interrupted.”
“Actually,” Murphy said, catching yet another thrall with a sharp side-kick and sending it flying into the wall across from her, “it is your fault. I mean, you’re the one who pisses them off by just existing.”
“So do you, technically,” Harry pointed out. “Look out!” He tackled her, hit the ground atop her, and the thrall she’d just kicked flew over their heads to smack into the wall at their backs.
Murphy snorted—it was too ridiculous not to—and pushed at his chest when he didn’t move after a couple of heartbeats. “Why are you still on top of me?”
“That was the last one,” he replied, propping himself up on his elbows (and not-so-incidentally grinding his pelvis into hers; why was it fights always had that effect on him?). “And I haven’t asked my question yet.”
“Most of them are just unconscious,” she pointed out. “Off.”
“But I was just getting comforta—ow. Okay, okay.” He rolled off her and lay for a moment.
For her part, Murphy wasted no time in getting to her feet. She swept the alley with a brief glance, checking to make sure that their opponents were indeed all unconscious, then looked down at Harry. “Well? Are we leaving?”
He got to his knees. “Just a minute. I think this is how it’s supposed to go.”
“How what’s supposed to go?” Murphy demanded, propping one hand on her hip. Harry had taken the other and was pressing it, somewhat dramatically, to his heart.
“This,” he said, and added, “Shit! I forgot the ring.”
“The...the what?” She stared at him, open-mouthed.
Harry grinned. “Karrin Murphy, I meant to ask this earlier. Will you marry me and have lots of sex and babies?”
Murphy rolled her eyes, jerked her hand away and smacked him across the head. “This is not the place, dolt. Of course I will.”
“Good.” He stood, leaned over her and kissed her hard, wrapping his hands around her hips.
For a moment, she let herself kiss him back, then pulled away and shoved at his chest. “Later,” she said, and smiled, softening the rejection a bit. “We have an alley to get the hell out of and a bed to be in. Or did you forget that part?”
“I would never forget the bed. Aren’t I supposed to carry you or something?”
Behind him, the thrall she’d gotten in the knees was writhing towards them. “Try it and I’ll smack you one,” she said, taking his hand. “Now move!”