A/N: First Dresden Files fic! I love Harry/Murphy (hari-kari xD) A LOT. This was just a plot bunny that was hopping around in my brain so I wrote it down. In this Harry and Murphy are in some sort of romantic relationship when the story starts. As always thanks to my beta, Jaeh xD You're so awesome, thank you for getting me into this series ^_^
Some sexual inferences but nothing explicit.
My fingers drummed spastically on the desk. The words on the reports in front of me had lost meaning. They looked more like gibberish than anything else, so I placed my pen down and stretched my tired arms.
I glanced at the digital clock's illuminated green numerals. One pm. The shower was still running. I bit my lip and tried not to worry too much. Harry had said he needed to clean off from the battle nearly three hours ago.
I had hot water. He hasn't had a hot shower in a long time. Yeah, that's probably it. I shook my head and sighed, knowing that wasn't the case.
He was scarred. Supernatural physical attacks were a standard in our line of work. So were psychic attacks. And he was subjected to a very violent one a few hours ago. If me and Thomas hadn't come when we had… I shuddered and swallowed back a lump in my throat.
It hadn't been pretty. We found Harry curled up in a fetal position, rocking back and forth, clawing at his hair. We could hear him muttering incoherently to himself. I had my gun drawn ready to blow the son of a bitch who did this to him to hell. But the assailant was long gone and that made the fury burn inside me. Bastard was still out there. I wouldn't rest until I found him.
Thomas had knelt down, talking softly to Harry until he slowly snapped out of it. We managed to get him to my car and Harry hadn't said much since then.
I hated myself for not getting there before he was assaulted. I know, I'm just a cop; I don't have any crazy magic powers to have stopped it. But I can't help think, maybe if I had been there I could have done something…
The shower was still running. I shook my head and tried to turn back to my work, telling myself he deserved some privacy. Then I slammed my hands on the desk and heaved myself up, hurrying toward the stairs.
I paused outside the bathroom, hearing the water run. Then I gently turned the doorknob and stepped inside. Steam billowed out of the small room. The dense humid air covered me immediately from how long the shower was running. The shower curtain wasn't even all the way closed. Harry's clothes were scattered haphazardly on the bathroom floor. It was as if stumbling into the shower used up the last of his energy.
Harry was facing slightly away from me. His body was tensed, one arm was pressed against the wall, and he leaned heavily as if that was all that was holding him up. Usually I would smirk and make some lewd comment, and stand back and appreciate his pleasant form.
But not now. He didn't notice me. His head was tilted down, dark hair plastered to his head. His eyes were closed tightly, and he was breathing hard through his nose. It looked like he was in pain. I looked closer at his skin. Some of it was rubbed raw, as if he had scrubbed himself too hard. Besides that I didn't see any immediate injuries on his body save for the old worn scars that littered it.
It suddenly hit me like a cold slap. Harry Dresden was crying. His tears were mingling with the shower, but by the way his chest jerked and how his frame shuddered slightly, I could tell. The steam flowed up from beneath him and reflected the sun's rays outside the window and lit him in a way that made my breath catch. It felt wrong to be here. But I couldn't leave him like this.
I kicked off my boots, then socks. Then I removed my clothes.
He didn't notice me until I slipped into the shower and pressed slightly against him. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He didn't move at first. Then he turned and looked down at me, eyes full of pain.
"Murph," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."
"About what," I asked, tracing the scars on his chest, down to his belly, and he shuddered, his eyes closing again.
"Your water bill," he answered, his voice now rough. I continued to slowly stroke him up his chest, kneading his tense muscles with my fingers. He shuddered harder.
"Waste…of water," he moaned.
I smiled upon hearing his usual snark. "A few fish can be sacrificed I think."
It went on like that for a while. I gently tried to alleviate the tension, his pain that the hot water couldn't get rid of. I smiled at some of the pleased noises he made, and reached up to his neck, lightly trailing my fingernails across it. He shivered despite the now lukewarm water pressing down on us. (The hot water was almost used up. He was in here for three hours.)
I could help him physically, maybe. But his mind had been attacked. I didn't know what the hell I could do to help him with that. And I wasn't a wizard, I sometimes hated I didn't have that kind of power to help people. To help Harry.
I gently turned him toward me and he leaned down. Our lips somehow met and he leaned against the side of the shower, our bodies pressed tightly together. I'm sure more steam was made in the process.
He was making small sounds of need against my mouth. His calloused hands rubbed down my back and I shivered in delight. We slid to the bottom of the tub like eels, entangled as we kissed.
It was some time later when we pulled apart, still panting. I quickly turned off the water before we drowned ourselves. Harry lay there quietly for a moment, and shivered when the warm water was turned off.
I lay next to him, stroking a finger over his chest and kissed him on the cheek.
"A man can't take a shower in peace these days," he sighed. I pushed myself out of the tub and grabbed two towels.
"You're shivering," I told him. He was still prostrate in the tub, and he closed his eyes.
"I don't want to get up."
"You're going to get sick. Then I'm gonna feel guilty about jumping you in the shower."
Harry smiled, his eyes still closed. Then, it seemed with a massive amount of energy, he pushed himself up and stood. He stepped out of the slick wet tub, still shivering.
He took the towel I handed to him and wrapped it around his shoulders, hugging the soft fabric to himself. I reached up and gently stroked his cheek and he closed his eyes letting out a small sigh.
Our foreheads rested against each other's and I relished in the moment, knowing he was here, alive, with me.
"You okay?" I whispered.
He kissed me on the forehead in answer. Then he padded back into the bedroom, toweling himself off.
I stared after him for a moment, and then smiled, shaking my head. He was never really okay. But despite everything, he dealt with it. The least I could do was help him cope. It never seemed like enough, but sometimes it was all I could do.