C. Murphy - Demon Hunts

“Some days that’s all I can ask for.” Morrison gave me a brief, almost sympathetic smile.

I wrinkled my eyebrows at him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Holliday sent me to get you.”

“Really? You? Why?” I had a pretty good idea of why, but I was curious as to what he’d say.

“It was a toss-up between me and Muldoon, but he’s three sheets to the wind and flirting with an FBI agent a quarter his age.”

I did a brief calculation. “She can’t possibly be. Even if you say he’s seventy-four, which he won’t be for-” I turned my wrist up to look at my watch “-for another three minutes, she wouldn’t be old enough to be out of training camp. I mean, police academy takes months, wouldn’t FBI training take at least twice as l…” Morrison was failing to fight off a grin. “Oh. You’re teasing me.”

“Yes.” He stopped trying to beat the grin down, and tipped his head at the door. “I’m here because you should be at the party, and Holliday thought you might actually listen if I came to get you. Get your coat.”

I got my coat, turned off my computer screen, and tugged Homicide’s door closed behind me before chasing Morrison down the steps to the precinct’s lobby.

Fireworks erupted in the sky as we pushed the doors open. Myriad colors bloomed against high clouds, reflecting the sparking streams of light as they popped and roared and whistled across the city. Distant music rang down the street, the strains of “Auld Lang Syne” played on radios and taken up by tuneless, exuberant voices. Morrison and I both stopped, taken aback by the sudden light and song show, then looked at one another.

There was really only one thing to do at midnight on New Year’s Eve, and we both knew it. We stood there gazing at each other, eye to eye, neither with the height advantage. Neither breathing, as far as I could tell. Time hadn’t stopped; I could feel my heart beating a little too hard as a blush started to climb my cheeks. But it felt like we were in a bubble, just me and Morrison, waiting to see what happened next.

The funny thing was that I thought if we’d been at Billy’s party, I might’ve kissed him. A brief peck on the way to kissing someone else. It would’ve been impolite not to, in those circumstances, but standing there in the precinct building doors, fireworks raining colored light on us, a kiss was more than just a kiss.

I glanced up just to find somewhere else to look, and discovered some enterprising soul had hung mistletoe over the door. I breathed laughter, making Morrison look up, too.

Complicated amusement danced over his face, making his blue eyes bright. He said, “Ah,” and took one judicious step out from under the door. “Happy New Year, Walker.”

My heart filled up and turned my smile sad and stupid all at once. “Happy New Year, Captain.”

“Come on.” Morrison offered a hand. “We’ve got a party to go to.”

There were probably a million reasons I shouldn’t accept that gesture. A million reasons he shouldn’t have offered it, for that matter. Right then, I didn’t care. Still smiling, I put my hand in his and squeezed. “Yes, sir.”

He squeezed back, released my fingers, and we went out into the new year together.