Okay, so this is my grand experiment in little shorter works in the COS 'verse – and I mean actual shorter works, not the novellas/novels that are my side stories. Some are prompt based, and basically, they're the sort of little ideas I knock something out for in less than hour, maybe two. Stuff that I can fold into the main narrative, but bulks it out/clogs it up a little bit.

Some is silly. Some is serious. Some is borderline tragic. And some will be very, very funny.

And all of it is CANON.

Where possible, I'll stick timeline clarifications. This chapter, for instance, is happening more or less right in line with the end of Ghosts of the Past and the start of The Phoenix and the Serpent, so if you haven't read that far, spin right back around.

"Dresden."

"Murph?" I said tentatively. Karrin Murphy was five feet and change, blond, blue-eyed, and pretty, with the sort of features that you'd associate with someone's favourite younger aunt. She was also head of Chicago PD's professional monster hunters, and when we'd first met, back when I'd been a newly qualified PI and she was a rookie beat-cop, she'd gone after a full-grown troll with nothing but her night-stick. Her record had only got more impressive from there.

As a result, while I didn't know what the glare and 'explain this NOW' tone portended, I was disposed to be wary.

"What the hell is this?" she asked in an ominously calm voice, chucking a copy of the Chicago Tribune at me.

"It's a newspaper," I said. "They come out daily. Sometimes weekly, depending on the publication -"

"I found it in my kitchen when I came in for breakfast," Murphy said flatly, in a tone that said 'cut the wiseassery or die'. Murphy can be a very expressive person sometimes. "There was a note."

She handed out a neatly folded note which was written in clear, flowing script that verged on calligraphy.

Dear Captain Murphy; a small puddle of slime may, indeed, be nothing more than a small puddle of slime, but in the wrong place its insignificance is precisely what makes it dangerous. Accordingly, justice must be done, Valhalla must wait, and in light of your principles, expedience must be dispensed with.

Something about the tone was vaguely familiar, and I said so.

"Any sign of a break-in?" I asked.

"None," Murphy said grimly. "I checked."

I raised an eyebrow, and she sighed.

"I didn't call it in because the note would raise questions about my involvement," she said.

"Involvement in what?" I asked, distinctly confused.

"Look at the second page."

I did as commanded, noticing as I did that the corner was neatly folded down, and skimmed it. The main story was some national political scandal, by the looks of things, being bumped from the front page by the ongoing events at ground zero in New Orleans and connecting those events to Chicago's own remodelling by the Battle of New Orleans. As I neared the bottom, though, I noticed a smaller article, neatly circled in what looked very much like the same ink that had been used for the note. I read it, then did a double-take, before bursting out laughing.

"Rudy's been arrested?" I asked, incredulous.

"I didn't call it in because the note would raise questions ," she said. "Look at the second page." She didn't seem quite as amused, but a faintly satisfied smile threatened to break through. "Word going around is that the investigation is into him. He's been taking payoffs."

"Marcone?" I guessed.

Murphy shook her head. "Organised Crime doesn't think so," she said. "And from what I've heard, the Outfit thinks it's hilarious that a member of Internal Affairs is being done for corruption. They wouldn't find it half so funny if he was one of theirs. Besides, Marcone isn't sloppy, and he doesn't employ sloppy people."

I grunted acknowledgement. John Marcone, undisputed lord of Chicago's mean streets, had done many things to organised crime in Chicago, and one of them was make it much, much more efficient. In some ways, the Outfit now resembled something closer to a successful corporate empire than a powerful criminal organisation, and Detective Rudolph wasn't a likely employee.

Rudy had been a member of SI back when it was the dumping ground for cops regarded as inconvenient for one reason or another, and a way to get them either to resign or out of the public eye. He hadn't exactly covered himself with glory there (going into complete denial regarding the supernatural hadn't been a good start), only proving himself efficient at brown-nosing, sufficient to get a transfer to IA, where he'd become a whole new kind of pain in the ass. Before that, he'd ended up at SI in the first place because he'd slept with the wrong City Councilman's daughter. In other words, he didn't have the kind of judgement that Marcone looked for in his employees.

"Who is it, then?"

Murphy shrugged. "No one knows," she said. "But one of the more popular theories is that it's HYDRA."

My jaw dropped, as Murphy explained.

"That's partly because they're flavour of the month as far as conspiracies and corruption go, especially after what happened at SHIELD, but it might have some legs," she said. "While Rudolph's not a true believer, he hates SI, and more importantly, he hates you. While I doubt that HYDRA ever gave a crap about us, you're definitely on their radar, and even if you weren't, Wanda certainly is."

"Meaning he wouldn't need much persuasion to look for dirt on us, especially if he's getting paid for it, and he'd be well-placed to do it," I admitted. "It makes sense."

"I'm glad you think so," Murphy said archly. "What are you smiling at?"

"Oh, just the irony," I said, and I was grinning like an idiot. "Rudy's spent years insisting that I'm some kind of terrorist con-man, a criminal who's got to be stopped at all costs, and now..."

"He fitted up his own description," Murphy finished, and snorted. "I see it." Her amusement faded into a frown. "But that doesn't explain the note. Especially given the note writer's implication that they arranged to have evidence of Rudolph's crimes discovered, and that they were doing me a favour."

Her frown deepened uneasily. "And they over-ranked me. I've heard rumours that SI's going to be expanded, with a captaincy attached, but the impression I got was that it was going to go to someone's blue-eyed boy on their way up the career ladder." Her lips twisted into a sour smile. "After all, SI's the place everyone wants to be, now."

"If they give it to anyone but you, Murph, they've gone insane," I said bluntly. "You've got more action under your belt than most of the White Council, or anyone mundane I've met who isn't a senior field agent at SHIELD. And I don't think even the Black Widow's ever taken out an ogre with a chainsaw while carrying a bad knee."

"I saw footage of her backflipping off Captain America's shield onto the back of an alien on some kind of flying motorbike doing at least a hundred during the battle of New York, Harry," she said dryly. "If she hasn't, it's probably only because she hasn't tried."

Having met Natasha Romanova, who was very attractive, perfectly charming, and significantly scarier than the creature she took her codename from, I couldn't exactly dispute that.

"Still," Murphy continued, tone softening. "Thanks."

I nodded, then examined the letter again. There really was something familiar about it. Then, a chill ran down my spine as I realised just where I recognised the tone from. Hell, even the handwriting was starting to look familiar from some of my more recent reading.

I swallowed, then carefully reread it, taking in every word, teasing out as much meaning as I could. Three of those words stood out, and as their meaning sunk in, my breathing turned harsh and uneven as my blood turned to ice.

'Valhalla must wait.'

"Harry?" Murphy asked, alarmed and somewhat muffled. I blinked and looked down. One of my arms had wrapped itself around Murphy's shoulders and jerked her protectively close. "Harry, what's wrong?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again, closing my eyes for good measure, as I both tried to swallow my fear and my reflexive rage, a towering and terrifying desire to find Rudy and burn him to a pile of ash.

"Harry," Murphy said, and now she was using the careful, gentle voice that people use around the possibly violently deranged and unexploded bombs. "Talk to me."

I took a deep breath and loosened my grip. "Sorry," I said. "Just… I think I know how they got in without triggering any alarm or leaving any evidence."

Murphy's eyes narrowed, but apparently accepted my deflection, for now. She was also a million miles from stupid, and caught on fast. "You know who it is," she said.

"Call it 95% certain," I said. "Room for a margin of error. If I'm right... well, then I'm pretty sure he likes you."

"Dresden," Murphy said dangerously. "Who did this? And what the hell do you mean, he likes me?"

I took a deep breath. "Murph, I'm almost certain that it was Doctor Strange," I said.

Murphy's expression darkened. She did not have the world's most positive view of Strange, despite never having met him. Considering that I'd confided in her about how Strange had manipulated my and my brother's lives since long before we were born, using our mother - his own apprentice - as a piece in the insane game of 5-D Chess he was playing with the universe, this wasn't exactly surprising.

"Why?" she asked flatly. She didn't question how. She'd heard enough from me, and from Wanda, to know that this was well within Strange's capabilities.

"Either he's being nice – his version of nice – or he thinks you'll be useful," I said. "Or both."

Murphy's expression darkened further. As someone else who'd been made to dance on Strange's puppet strings, I very much sympathised.

"He's doing me a favour," she said quietly. "He wants me to owe him?"

"No," I said. "Not exactly. Strange knows how people tick. He knows you don't work like that." I nodded at the paper. "He respects your principles, which means that he knows them. It's also one hell of a lot more than he usually does for anybody else. I think he likes you, actually."

"Then what is he doing?" Murphy demanded. "Rudy's a pain in the ass, but he's not exactly dangerous." She stared at me. Clearly I hadn't hidden my expression very well. "Harry," she said. "What aren't you saying?"

I took a deep breath. "'Valhalla must wait'," I said. "Valhalla is the home of the honoured dead in Norse mythology – and apparently, reality. It's where heroes go, Murph. When they die."

The blood slowly drained from Murphy's face, and slowly she sat down. "Rudy was going to kill me?" she asked, voice under careful control.

"Going by the letter, he'd probably be incidental in it," I said. "In the wrong place at the wrong time. But important enough that removing him would keep you alive."

Murphy shook her head slowly. "How do you deal with this?" she asked.

"You'd be better off asking Wanda," I said. "She's been living with it for the last thirty years."

Murphy shuddered. "That's a thought to inspire nightmares," she muttered. She looked up at me. "Why? Not why is he doing it. I'd guessed that, from what you've told me about him. You said he likes me. Why do you think that?"

I paused, weighing my words carefully. "Going out of his way to keep you alive - or remove someone who might somehow be involved in your death at some point - could just be him being nice to me," I said. "He's done a couple of things like that recently. I'm not sure if he feels guilty about what he's done with me, because he's trying to be kind to Wanda by proxy, or because he figures that you're a good ally for me and Wanda to have, or even all of the above and more besides."

Murphy was listening attentively, committing everything she heard to memory. I wouldn't have been surprised if she got out her notebook and started taking notes. "Go on," she said.

I looked at the note again and grimaced. "Murph... Strange has a reputation," I said.

She snorted. "Really?" she said ironically. "I'd never have guessed."

"Part of that reputation," I said, ignoring the smartassery, because commenting on it would be both beneath me and hypocritical. "Is that he is absolutely ruthless."

Murphy froze, then looked up at me, crystal blue eyes widening. "You mean..."

"'In light of your principles, expedience must be dispensed with'," I said grimly. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind what that meant.

"He'd have killed Rudolph," she said quietly.

"In a heartbeat," I confirmed. "I doubt he'd even consider it out of the ordinary. From what Wanda's told me, he grew up in Camelot when Arthur was a young Prince, and Merlin was his manservant and secret magical bodyguard. Strange learned at Merlin's side, the two are close, and I mean close. I've seen them interact, and Merlin is just about the only person who can control him. Anyway – Strange helped him watch Arthur's back." I sighed. "Murph, back then, watching someone's back meant killing anyone who looked like they might go for it. I've met both of them. Merlin's mellowed out a fair bit, as far as I can tell. Strange? Not so much." I glanced at the note. "All we can really be glad of is that for him, this isn't personal."

She frowned at me, and I sighed again.

"Murph, I was at ground zero of the Battle of New Orleans," I said. "I learned a few things. One of them is what it looks like when Strange is really upset with someone. When someone makes it personal." I shuddered, remembering the screams. "I've seen it, and I never, ever, want to see it ever again."

"And he spared Rudolph," Murphy said, voice leaden. "Not out of decency, or a desire to see justice done, or a respect for due process. Because he likes me."

"He respects your principles, at least," I said. "But yeah."

Murphy stared into the middle distance for a long few moments, before exhaling sharply and shaking her head. "Is this how you felt? Like a puppet, dancing on someone else's strings? Having your fate changed on a whim? I mean, it was worse - way worse - for you, but..."

I sighed. "Pretty much, yeah."

Murphy shook her head again. "God, that's messed up."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing. It might have been a little hysterical. "I know actual gods who'd agree with you."

Yes, this is one of the more serious ones. What, were you expecting wall to wall zany comedy?