Hello again! Thank you for all the comments and feedback on the previous fic. That one was supposed to be a short, stand-alone piece, but since some of you felt like I left the relationship between D&M kind of "in the air", I decided to take the plunge and write the continuation into a much longer, plot-based story. It is not necessary to have read "The Bittersweet Taste of Betrayal" to read this one, as it can be easily followed regardless.

Once again, I appreciate all your comments. I don't think I would've ended up writing this story without your encouragement. I would also like to thank all of the other writers in this fandom for keeping this universe so alive.

In any case, I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it, so…

Happy Thursday!

Prologue

She stood before him shaking with a mixture of rage and fear. The rain outside had intensified. It hit the windows of the flat with an angry tempo that matched the rhythm of their heartbeats. Other than that, there was just bitter silence. He inched closer and she took two uncertain steps back, bumping into the naked wall of the small hallway.

"Harry…" Dempsey breathed.

Eyes wide and voice trembling, she spoke the stern warning with resolute conviction.

"If you touch me again, I'll kill you!"

The Return

The silver haired gentleman sat alone in his personal sanctuary. He leaned back on the leather chair and regarded the collection of books neatly placed and categorized on the tall shelves all around him. He'd just come back from his morning walk, showered, got dressed and settled down in his study to have breakfast and read the newspaper. He liked routines, followed the same one every single morning. Order, after all, was the only way to combat the absurd world he'd come to despise.

A well-manicured finger hooked around the handle of a plain, porcelain teacup and the scent of Earl Grey reached his nostrils. Hot, rich, just like he liked it. He took a dainty sip, savoring the spicy warmth before setting the cup back on its saucer.

It was a new day, a new week, a new month… A wrong had been righted, and the world kept spinning in that same senseless way it always had.

Only, today, it would make just a bit more sense.

The alarm buzzer went off at seven thirty sharp, but James Dempsey had already been semi-awake for about ten minutes. His mind had been wandering in that blissful space between sleep and wakefulness where a dream is malleable enough to be shaped into one's innermost desires. He allowed himself to be transported to that ethereal place, enjoying every second that passed in a surreal succession of time, like those melting clocks he saw in a magazine once. A picture perfect world where all his fears and doubts dissolved, and his wishes magically became a reality…

But, alas, the world was not measured by the elasticity of the Dalian brush, and the moment the minute hand hit that six on the real clock, those delightful images filled with smooth skin and soft, golden hair evaporated into thin air along with his smile.

Damn!

The cacophony of the alarm clock dragged him back to the mundane reality of his bedroom, and he let out a groan of annoyance at such an unwelcomed intrusion.

But then he remembered what day it was…

Today he was due back at work from a week of paid leave after having led the most successful arms dealing crackdown in recent decades. The ring had been organized by Andrew Bennet, a British born linchpin with strong connections to the U.S.S.R, and who'd managed to elude every single police agency in Europe for longer than anybody cared to admit. And all it took to nab him was the tedious review of seven years' worth of tracking documents, ten months of active surveillance, a scheme to lure the group to an abandoned site in Lambeth, and a raid involving a wide range of law enforcement agencies all acting under SI10's strict directives.

Nobody, however, had expected the malevolent bastard to plague the building with enough active explosives to flatten half a city block. Fortunately, everyone had vacated the place by the time the blast turned the building into rubble. Dempsey himself had fled the site just in the nick of time, and save for a couple of scrapes and scars, and a nearly dislocated shoulder, he'd managed to escape the collapsing building unscathed. But not before retrieving enough evidence from the chosen rendez vous spot to put that asshole away for several lifetimes. As for Dempsey's partner, Sgt Makepeace, she'd done a pretty good job coordinating the various arrests with the rest of the team and the local constabulary.

All in all a slam dunk.

Leave it to SI10 to get the job done, Dempsey thought throwing the sheets to the side and getting up.

He stepped into the shower and tried to limit the use his left arm as he used a plain soap bar to lather his body. He massaged his neck and injured shoulder under the hot water to ease the morning stiffness, a ritual that had worked wonders this past week. The pain had been somewhat excruciating at first, especially in the mornings, but now it was pretty manageable and in no way was he in need of any painkillers to keep the discomfort under control. Even though the doctor had prescribed some industrial strength shit, he figured he was better off without it. The bottle still sat on his kitchen counter completely full, except for the two tablets he'd taken the night Makepeace stayed over. She had insisted so much upon him taking the stuff he'd finally obliged just to keep her nagging butt off his back. If she were to find out those would be the last two tablets he'd take in a week, she would chew his ass off!

Dempsey smiled at the thought of his partner's wrath. If she only knew how much that cool fire of hers turned him on, she'd be a hell of a lot more restrained. Although, truth be told, he was a little anxious about seeing her again. Things had cooled off between them during the week they'd been apart. They had spoken a couple of times over the phone while she spent time at her dad's estate, but the conversations had been casual, the subjects limited to how his injuries were healing, about work and even, for God's sake, the weather!

Neither of them had mentioned the kiss. The mind-fucking-blowing kiss they had shared that last night at the office. Just thinking about it made Dempsey's blood rush to places he had no time to tend to at the moment so, jaw clenched, he turned the hot water to freezing cold and, after several seconds of icy frustration, the situation became a little more manageable. Mission accomplished, he turned off the shower as goose bumps began forming on his skin, and yanked the towel from the rack.

He scratched his chin, fingers rasping against the four day old beard, and noticed how blunt the blades on the Gillette razor he kept by the sink had become. With a dejected sigh, he made a mental note to stop by the corner shop to get a set of razors and, right, some shaving cream, he realized as he shook the almost empty can. He snatched the electric shaver off its base and flipped the switch to see if it was properly charged. The machine woke up with a gruff sound and a steady vibration.

It would have to do.

The earlier steam from the shower had fogged up his mirror, so he swiped his right hand in a circular motion to clear a small section while he moved the shaver over his cheek with his left one, feeling satisfied that the mobility on that arm was nearly back to normal. The bruising on his face had almost disappeared too, and only a small patch of yellowish skin framed his left eye and cheekbone.

His mind traveled to the day of the explosion once again and, more specifically, to his partner's reaction to his bold decision to go back into the building. It had never been his intention to scare her. And she had been sacred. Shitless. A twinge of guilt needled his mind remembering the raw fear in her confession as she cried in his arms. He'd felt like such a jerk for making her feel that way. If there was one person in this world Dempsey would never intentionally hurt, that was Harry.

But the stunt she had pulled to 'protect' him… Deep down he knew Harry would've never have gone through with it, yet even if she'd been bluffing, her determination had shocked the crap out of him! He never expected her to care so damn much—and she really did care, about him! That night, confusion had turned to surprise, and then to the realization that there was clearly something deeper going on between them. Apparently the best partner he'd ever had also happened to be the one broad who could make his world spin.

And then she'd left the following morning without so much as a word, leaving behind just a note. A note, he didn't really know how to interpret. She had just taken off and, for the entire week, the mere thought of her lips, her voice, her scent could just…

Down, boy!

He forced his mind to make a sharp U-turn from where it was heading, and turned off the machine with the same dogged finality as the direction of his thoughts. Content with the closeness of the shave, although not as content as if he'd used an actual razor, he proceeded to brush his teeth with an overabundance of energy.

Feeling fully awake, he liberally applied some of the pretentious aftershave Harry had gotten him on his last birthday. It smelled and felt expensive, plus it came in a fancy crystal container that looked more like an aged old liquor than an aftershave. He remembered wondering whether she was being nice or, maybe, she just simply disliked his regular dash of Old Spice and it was her subtle way of telling him to switch brands. Of course, he shouldn't be the one to complain about lousy birthday gifts. On her last birthday he had gotten her a gigantic chocolate bunny with a cracked ear—a reject from an Easter egg hunt just a couple of weeks prior. He was still shocked she hadn't stuffed the damned thing down his throat when he had propped it on her desk with an exuberant 'happy birthday, princess!' Instead, she had given him a clipped smile and a cool, 'Oh, how very nice of you, Leftenant!' in that crisp, British accent that always sent his testosterone on a wild rampage. Then she'd put it aside, and turned her undivided attention to the computer screen once again.

He really ought to work on his gift-giving skills, he thought with a smile.

Running the same towel he'd just used on his body through his damp hair, he walked into the room and sent another quick glance at the clock on his nightstand.

Great! He was already running late!

Dempsey let out a tight curse under his breath and threw the towel unceremoniously on the bed. He quickly put on a pair of well-worn blue jeans over his boxer shorts, a white button up shirt, his grey Nikes, and adjusted the leather holster around his shoulders, wincing slightly when his left arm protested with the range of movement. Then, taking out his Magnum from the small drawer of his nightstand, he checked it to make sure there was a full round in the chamber, snapped it shut and holstered it with the ease that comes with years of experience.

Not five minutes later, he was out the door, Merc keys in his hand and a bug of anticipation playing snooker inside his gut.

S.I. 10 Headquarters

It was early Monday morning and Detective Sgt Harriet Makepeace was already sorting through the various documents that had piled up on her tray during her week long holiday. The lazy days she'd spent at her family estate had helped shake off some of the stress of their latest case, and by the end of the week she was already itching to get back to the office. It was more than just the love for her work, though. There were personal matters she needed to tend to. Such matters, she supposed, were to blame for the flock of frantic butterflies wreaking havoc in her stomach at that very moment.

She, of course, always cherished her visits back home. Three of her father's old colleagues had also spent the week at Winfield Hall while she'd been there: Charles Shaw, Theodore Bishop and Tiberius North. Even Uncle Duffy had made a brief stop last weekend for some grouse hunting.

She had known Charles Shaw since she was a child. A prominent MP for the labour party, he'd been a great source of comfort after her mother's passing. She'd dare say he was like a second father to her, just like Freddy had been one to his daughter, Elisabeth. Harry and Elisabeth had been inseparable as children, had their share of boy related spats as teenagers until, at some point in their adult lives, they'd just drifted apart.

For the most part, her father's guests—often members of Britain's upper crust—aimed to get away from London's hustle and bustle and found respite in the familiar serenity of the countryside. Lord Theodore Bishop and Tiberius North, Earl of Shrewsbury, were two of such guests. They had spent the week in the opposite wing of the mansion while Harry was there, and she had only crossed paths with them at dinner time, or on the rare occasion she'd decided to have tea at the solarium.

Tiberius North was a world traveller. He had spent part of his youth roaming through Africa, hunting for big game and bringing back trophies and ethnic artefacts that he would display on his various estates, all of which resembled a luxurious lodge out of a Kenyan safari. Always charming despite bursting with arrogance, his wide compilation of tales bordering the implausible would liven up a party more effectively than the most skilled magician. Even Harry couldn't help being enthralled by his superb knack for storytelling.

Lord Bishop, on the other hand, was a quiet and reserved man. He had lost his only son to suicide almost sixteen years ago, event that had left a bitter emotional wound from which he'd never really recovered. He was a stern high court judge with a judicial eye and a critical nature and who, for some odd reason, refused to leave the bench despite having jumped over the age of retirement for almost a decade. He prided himself in knowing all of T.S Eliot poems by heart, and would often quote them aloud whether the situation warranted it or not. Harry had never really liked him. Much less after the night of the blackout, just two days before his son's death...

She frowned, shaking out of her musings, and sent a quick glance at her watch expecting her partner to walk through the door at any moment. That spark of anticipation ignited once again in her lower belly, and she turned to the first report on the pile to quench it. Except for the two newest members of the team who were quietly filing away last weeks' paperwork in the far corner cabinet, she had been alone in the office all morning. The youngsters would lift their heads occasionally and regard her with the utmost respect, which Harry decided was an improvement over the curious stares she had got when they had first joined S.I.10 the month before. She had cordially greeted them when she arrived, and they had replied with a polite 'good morning, Sergeant' and immediately buried their noses in the filing cabinet once again.

DS Chas Jarvis, the boss' right hand man, had flashed by the office earlier just to retrieve some files from the Guv's office. He'd informed Harry that Chief Superintendent Spikings had been in an important meeting with the Commissioner since the early morning hours and they were both getting ready for a press conference, but he didn't elaborate on the nature of such meeting. He had left in a whirlwind just as he had appeared, leaving Harry to ponder what could Spikings be possibly feeding the press before the crack of dawn on a Monday. Whatever it was seemed to be serious enough to involve the Commissioner which was never a good sign.

Their latest case had been set in motion in a similar fashion, with the Commissioner putting the screws to the Chief and SI10 to get results on a case very few agencies had dared to tackle, and none had managed to break. Her mind derailed to the closing of that particular case, and how a series of bad decisions had placed her and her partner in a rather delicate position. Fortunately, after a heart-to-heart talk with Dempsey, she had come to her senses and decided not to hand Spikings a form with a laundry list of charges deeming her partner unfit for field duty. Unfortunately, she had done something perhaps even more stupid. Throwing all caution to the wind, she had initiated a kiss that had led to a steamy, and completely unprecedented, make out session between her and Dempsey right on the spot where she was now seating.

Her cheeks began to burn, just as they did every time the memory of how Dempsey's lips had felt against her own had sneaked into her mind during her stay at Winfield Hall. And when Freddy had noticed her flushed skin, she'd simply blamed her proximity to the fireplace, or the expensive chardonnay, or the exertion after an evening of equestrian activities. And, although she had talked to Dempsey over the phone a couple of times, pulse racing and chest tight, their conversations had been cordial at best, and even a bit detached considering their level of intimacy on the night in question. Perhaps she shouldn't be so surprised. After all, theirs had always been a complicated, hard-edged relationship, filled with raw emotion, denied sexual desire and a battle of wills.

Harry had been so engrossed in her daydreaming, she almost jumped out of her skin when she heard a dark, mellow voice behind her ear whispering 'Mornin', princess'. The sudden jolt set her heart on a frenzy as the initial shock merged into another feeling not quite as easily to identify.

She got a whiff of his aftershave, the musky scent lingered for a fragile moment before he plopped down on his chair across from her desk with an enigmatic smile. He was looking much better than he did a week ago. Clean shaven, the bruising on his face seemed to have faded almost completely, and he appeared serene and well rested. Attractive in that rough, untamed way Harry had fought so hard to find irresistible.

Dempsey propped his feet on the desk and leaned back on the chair, exuding his usual carefree attitude. He lifted his chin in silent greeting towards the two rookies in the back of the room, and began sorting through a stack of mail.

"Did ya have a nice week?" he asked cheerfully. "How's your old man?"

"It was rather nice and Freddy is doing well," she replied, reaching for the stapler and intent on keeping the conversation casual. "He sends his regards. And how was your week off, Lieutenant?"

"Well, y'know, the typical," Dempsey shrugged. "Went club hoppin', got into a coupla bar fights, woke up drunk a few times by the river bank…"

Harry raised an eyebrow of contempt at him, unamused. He was clearly pulling her leg, she just didn't find his brand jocularity particularly funny at the moment. Her expression must have been one of personified disdain. One that made Dempsey break into a fit of soft laughter.

"Relax, babe," he said, struggling to keep a straight face. "Followed the doctor's orders. Didn't do much. Watched lots of TV and had canned chicken soup comin' outta my ears." He kept shuffling through the envelopes slowly, his attention square on the task as he added almost as an afterthought. "Could've really used some company, you know..."

"Why, were there no willing bodies at the local pub this past week?"

The words had left her mouth without thought or warning. It was as if years of quick, witty comebacks had been set on autopilot, and by the time she found the regret button inside her brain, it was already too late. Dempsey's hands had frozen mid-shuffle. His eyes trailed up to hers, all traces of humour now completely vanished from his face and replaced by something cold and foreign.

"I'm sorry," she quickly apologized. "That was rather rude of me."

"'Rather rude'?" he repeated dryly. Dempsey sat up on the chair and sent a quick glance to the two murmuring boys in the back of the room who were still hard at work flipping through their mountain of ready to file reports. He then leaned forward, his eyes drilling into hers. "I ain't gonna play games here, princess," he said in a quiet, yet stern voice. "We gotta talk. No more dancin' 'round the bush." And, despite the term of endearment, his voice had been dead serious.

Harry felt the weight of his stare pinning her to the spot. There was a moment of fleeting uncertainty that dawdled between them. She offered him a weak nod, not quite sure how to interpret his words, much less the sudden downturn of his mood.

Had she just blown the whole thing?

"Not right now," she said, keeping her voice just above a whisper as if the entire building had the ability to eavesdrop into their conversation. "Not in here."

It was Dempsey's turn to nod, his expression unreadable. He let out a heavy sigh, the stack of mail now forgotten over the organized chaos that was his desk. Frowning, his jaw jutting a bit, he looked away. Using a much softer tone, he began, "Harry—"

The door swung open and Chas, looking a bit warn and tired, leaned forward to call their attention while keeping a tight grip on the handle.

"Oh, good! You're both here! Spikings wants you down in interrogation room B right away."

"New case?" Harry asked, struggling to keep her voice even.

"A big one," Chas replied. "It's all over the papers. Haven't you read the headlines?"

Neither Dempsey nor Makepeace were in the mood to offer an answer. Deciding the question was rhetorical, they just let Chas fill in the silence.

"We got a dead diplomat, one shady witness and enough red tape to cover the entire Houses of Parliament."

"Oh, good! Another one of those 'look but don't touch' cases," Dempsey groaned in disgust. "So who's the stiff?"

"His name's Charles Shaw. A seventy-two year old MP with strong ties to some members of the royal family."

Harry's head snapped up.

No, it couldn't be…

She shifted on the chair, feeling a spider with icy legs crawling up her spine.

"Spikings insists on the utmost discretion on this one," Chas continued. "The circumstances around the murder are somewhat… peculiar."

"Aren't they always?" Dempsey rolled his eyes and turned to his partner, a quizzical frown forming on his forehead upon meeting her eyes. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," she blurted out. "Uhm, excuse me, I need to…"

But she didn't finish the statement. She just dashed out the room and into the corridor, closing her eyes as she leaned against the pale yellow wall for support. Dempsey stepped out a couple of seconds behind her and approached her slowly. She could sense his bafflement through the poignant silence.

"I'm okay," she assured him.

"No, you're not," he said, resting his hand on the wall just above her shoulder and completely invading her personal space. In a quiet voice, he added, "You wanna tell me about it, or are you gonna make me guess?"

He was too close. Not only physically, he was somehow managing to cloud her thoughts. She was trapped. Harry knew from personal experience there wouldn't be any easy way of thwarting his concern. He had gone into 'overprotective mode' and right now she didn't have the will or the energy to out-stubborn him.

"I know the victim," she confessed, struggling to keep her voice steady. "He was visiting my father last week while I was there. Left the day before I did. His daughter and I used to be good friends."

"Jesus!" Dempsey whispered.

"He said we should meet for tea sometime this week, that he missed seeing us girls together…" Harry kept talking, feeling more dazed by the second. "Oh, God! I can't believe he's dead!"

Dempsey placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze. She could tell he wanted to comfort her but didn't quite know how. Their last hug had ended up spinning way out of control, so perhaps keeping a safe distance now wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Maybe you oughta sit this one out," Dempsey offered softly.

"No!" she snapped turning to him. "I want to get to the bottom of this!"

"Are you guys coming?" Chas called from the office down the hallway.

Dempsey's eyes fixed on Harry's, a silent query answered by the determination found behind those clear, blue depths. He offered her a tight smile, respecting her wishes, no further questions asked.

"We'll be right down, Chas," he replied, his focus still on his partner.

[TBC…]