Murphy's Saturn was already pulling up by the time Harry had his duster on. The trunk of the Beetle slammed shut in tandem to the opening of her driver's side door, and he quizzically stared at her, entirely stunned by her arrival.
He looked like he thought he'd be going this one alone.
As she walked up, wearing a tactical vest and flicking the safety on a gun that had been given to her by a mercenary in lew of chocolate, Harry wrapped the leather cord of a scrying crystal into his duster pocket and...just stared for a couple moments. "How did you find me here?" he said, failing to conceal his slack-jawed surprise.
She smirked and snorted. "I could have sworn it said 'detective' somewhere on my badge." Not that one necessarily needed to be a detective to find him- just follow the wake of destruction and Sasquach sightings in downtown Chicago.
Surprise gave way to something warm and comfortable across his features.
He pouted. "I'm a detective, too." Harry pointed in the direction of his wallet. "I have a card, a license...I even took a test!"
"I only have ten years on the force."
"You and the Jedi."
"Don't be ridiculous, they have better funding." She let the MP-5 swing on her shoulder strap while she tucked her hair into a ponytail. In the intermission, she couldn't help but notice the bruises on his cheeks and stress lines on his eyes- no doubt dealt to him by something bigger, stronger, and faster than he was.
"A grandma went to work on my face," he grumbled while his fingers nimbly made sure the carriage of his revolver was ready to roll.
...Or maybe an 80-year old woman had done it.
Murphy quirked a golden eyebrow upwards.
"With a hockey stick." A clarification added moments later to make the entire thing seem manlier. "From behind." None of that kept him from reaching behind his neck for added reassurance that the kink she'd put in his spine hadn't manifested into something more serious.
To keep herself from laughing, Murphy eyed the warehouse in front of them and let the moment somber. "All right, so how do we hit them?"
"So hard they see cartoon stars." There was a sense of reserve in his voice, gaze never waiving as he figured out his best plan of attack.
Worked for her.
They strode up to the warehouse door, armed and already teeming with the prerequisites to adrenaline.
"We go through on three." The shield bracelet on his wrist was already glimmering, his knuckles white against the oaken staff.
On either side of the door, they pressed their backs against the wall and waited to move.
For once choosing cunning and sneakiness as opposed to blatant destructive force, Harry's hand grasped the metal handle. The smallest pop of static echoing in the pre-firefight silence.
When he moved, he moved quickly, pressing his full physical strength into the task and keeping his eyes forward, alert...
The assault abruptly ended when his face slammed into the door with a dull thunk. Backing away and clutching his forehead, he cursed twice and pressed his fingers into his hair like he was trying to hold his skull together. "Hell's-" he trailed off, to grimace. "-Bells. That hurt."
"Hey, detective," Murphy whispered, drawing special enunciation on the second word.
When he looked up, he saw her index finger pressed against the "pull" sign attached at eye-level.
Murphy had seen him blow down plenty of doors, but when this one went down he seemed to blast it with a sense of relish usually reserved for the forces of darkness.