Dempsey wiped his hand over his face. He was at an old-fashioned pub in Stockwell, trying to find intelligence on arms smuggling across the Irish border. He'd spent three weeks now being Jimmy O'Malley, the son of Irish Americans who was in London to help the old country in its fight against the Brits.

The job had been going well. He'd made inroads within the Irish community in Stockwell, had learned some names that would be good to look into. It was slow going though. The Irish guys were cautious and Dempsey knew he'd have to be patient if he wanted to win their trust.

Dempsey checked his watch. Five to one in the morning. Most pubs closed at eleven but this one sometimes had a lock-in, staying open later than the legal opening hours for regulars. In Dempsey's experience, pubs that took a relaxed view on licensing laws often attracted clientele that took a relaxed view on other things. It was a good place to do his job but a horrible place to be, with its sticky carpets and nicotine-stained celling, its loud women and short-tempered men.

Still, the Guinness was good. He finished his pint and was about to slide off the stool to go home when a matronly woman he'd met earlier dropped her hand on his sleeve.

"Not leaving already, Jimmy?"

"Hey, Maggie," Dempsey said easily. "Time to call it a night, darlin'. Gotta get my beauty sleep, you know."

She tutted at him. "We both know that's not true, Jimmy. What is it, have you a girl you need to get back to?"

"My girl's back in the States. Hope she'll be able to get over here soon." This was the cover story he'd fixed on but it felt a little odd saying it.

Dempsey stuck it out while Maggie cooed her sympathy at him. He knew that Maggie could be useful – she seemed to know most of the regulars and could make some useful introductions – but he was tired and keen get moving.

After a couple of minutes, Maggie managed to extract a promise that he'd come back the next evening to watch the live band. She told him proudly that her son Sean was the singer. He told her he wouldn't miss it and she allowed him to go.

He pulled his jacket closer around him as he left. It was early July, and even though it was late the sun had only been down a couple of hours and the evening was mild. He thought about Jimmy O'Malley, a chancer who was looking to make a few bucks while sticking it to the Brits at the same time. A man with low standards and dirty habits. It had only been three weeks but already he could feel the grime of O'Malley's lifestyle rubbing off on him.

His feet were carrying him through the quiet London streets while he lost himself in thought. He couldn't afford to let his guard down when he was being O'Malley but he worried that he would lose himself in the process.

Forty minutes later he stopped walking and looked up. He was kind of surprised to see Harry's townhouse in front of him. It hadn't been a conscious decision to come here but he was glad all the same.

He couldn't see her for the duration of the undercover, it would be too dangerous, both for her and for him. But he was drawn to her home somehow and didn't think twice.

He checked there was no one around then let himself quietly into her hall. As he pulled he key from the lock he paused for a moment and looked at it before dropping it back into his pocket. She'd given it to him a few months ago – got tired of him breaking in, she'd said, he may as well use the front door like a civilised human. He carried it with him on his own keyring. He figured it must mean she trusted him, at least a little. He hoped so anyway.

Not the first time he'd turned to Harry in the middle of a difficult undercover job. Johnny Lupino had needed her too. Hell, James Dempsey needed her.

He crept quietly up the stairs. Her bedroom door was not quite closed and he pushed at it, easing himself in. A little light filtered through her blinds, enough for him to make out the shapes in front of him. Dempsey felt a calmness wash over him, just knowing that he was in the same space as her, able to hear her breathing. He looked at Harry's sleeping form and blinked. For a moment he couldn't work out what he was seeing. Harry was lying peacefully on her side, eyes closed, facing him. A man was snuggled up asleep behind her.

oOo

Harry woke early, her heart racing and her skin flushed. She'd been dreaming of him again, the partner she hadn't seen for weeks. He'd been reaching for her, calling her name, and she'd held out her arms to him but he'd slipped away. She'd run towards him, desperate to catch him, and eventually she'd felt him solid beneath her fingers and she'd inched her arms around him, pulling him close. She'd felt his breath on her skin and had turned her face to his, their lips only moments apart, when she'd woken with a start.

She closed her eyes and rolled onto her back, her eyes snapping open again as she remembered she wasn't alone. Gingerly she turned her head and winced as she saw Jasper lying alongside her. Shit shit shit. She eased herself carefully out of her bed and gathered up her clothes, hoping she'd be able to make it out of the shower before he woke.

In the end she got as far as the kitchen, scrambling eggs and buttering toast, before she heard Jasper on the stairs. She poured him a coffee and waved him towards the kitchen table. "Morning," she said. "Hungry?"

"Yes please," he said, grinning. He took a sip of his coffee as she brought over their plates and slid into a chair opposite him. Picking up a fork he glanced at Harry. A blush was rising up his neck. He said, "I, er. It was good to bump into you yesterday. I mean, obviously good."

Harry smiled across at him. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

"Three and a half years."

Harry concentrated on slicing up her toast and scooping up her egg. "Yes," she said. She'd been out with Angela and the girls last night when they'd bumped into Jasper and his friends at the club. She hadn't seen him for years, not since they'd broken up. They'd dated for a few months in the window between the end of her marriage and the arrival of Dempsey but had separated on good terms when he'd wanted more and she hadn't been ready.

But last night she'd been feeling vulnerable and lonely. She was well past the denial phase. He'd been undercover now for three weeks and she was missing him. Not in the way she should miss a colleague. In the wrenching, terrifying way that showed her exactly what he meant.

So when she'd seen Jasper, a kind man who she'd once been fond of, she'd been happy to share a drink with him. In the darkness of the club she'd leant against him, taking comfort from the warmth of his familiar body. It wasn't the right body, but Jasper was keen to rekindle their affair and it was easy to fall in line. She invited him back to her house and back into her bed because she longed to feel wanted again and she knew Jasper wanted her.

Jasper pushed his plate away and finished his coffee. "Harry," he said deliberately, and Harry's stomach sank. "I really enjoyed last night. Do you think we could do it again?"

Harry's pause was the only answer he needed. "I'm sorry," she said.

Jasper's face fell. "Is there someone else?"

"No," she sighed. "But I'm… not available. I really am sorry." She leaned over and squeezed his hand. Jasper was a decent man and she hadn't treated him well, not something she was happy about.

Fortunately, Jasper was too kind to make it difficult for her. He gave a small shrug. "Can't blame a man for trying."

She smiled at him gratefully before catching a glimpse of the clock on the kitchen wall. "It's late," she said, "I need to get to the office."

Jasper cleared their breakfast crockery into the sink and started to gather his belongings. Harry went to the hall to fetch his coat, pausing for a moment as she reached for it. She gave her head a tiny shake. She could sense him, could smell him. He'd been here in her hallway. She took a breath, feeling shaken, wanting to capture his presence around her like a blanket.

A thought struck her. He wouldn't have come just to stand in her hall. What if he'd seen Jasper? She couldn't think about that now. Grabbing Jasper's coat she went back to the kitchen and ushered him out of her house, planting a distracted kiss on his cheek as he left.

oOo

The band was OK, Dempsey guessed. Maggie's son Sean had a good voice and they were playing crowd pleasers well enough that a couple of the regulars had got up to dance.

Dempsey was on his third pint. He knew he should be keeping his wits about him but the temptation to dull the edges a little was too strong to resist. The image of Harry in the sack with some other guy had been tearing at him all day.

Maggie bustled over, a glass of gin and lemon in her hand. Dempsey nodded towards Sean. "Should be very proud."

"Oh I am, right enough," she said. "He's a good boy. But what are you doing standing over here all by yourself? Come and join us, sweetheart." Maggie led him across to a booth and they slid in alongside a couple of guys that Dempsey had seen around the place a few times before.

"Jimmy O'Malley," he said, offering his hand.

"I'm Dermot Murphy, mate. Good to meet you. Any friend of Maggie's and all that." They shook hands and Dempsey nodded at the others. His brain was ticking over. He was sure he'd heard the name Dermot Murphy before, thought he was probably someone worth getting to know a bit better.

They chatted about the band for a moment and Dempsey gave them his cover story about his Irish-American family back in the States. The band took a break and Dempsey offered to get a round in. Murphy came to give him a hand at the bar.

Dempsey held a note in his hand, trying to catch the eye of the barmaid. Murphy said, "So, what keeps you busy while you're over here, Jimmy?"

"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that. Whatever I can do to make a buck or two, really."

"That so, is it?"

"I'm pretty handy. Good with the cars. And if it does over the Brits at the same time, all the better."

Murphy gave him a long look. "You got experience as a driver then, Jimmy?"

"I've done a few jobs." He gave his order to the barmaid then turned again to Murphy. "You know of anything going off that I could help with?"

The barmaid returned with their drinks and Murphy took a couple of pints in his hands. Dempsey paid as Murphy turned to go back to the booth. "Maybe," he said to Dempsey, over his shoulder.

The rest of the evening passed easily enough, with the band providing a lively soundtrack and Maggie leading the conversation in the booth. By the time Dempsey left he was a litle worse for wear and he walked the twenty minutes to the bedsit it was staying in. He flicked a switch and the bare lightbulb let out a dirty glow, enough for him to see the single bed with the thin blankets, the sink in the corner with his dinner things still in it, the trash bag in the corner with his clothes stuffed in.

He pulled off his shoes and socks and pulled his belt through the loops. His jeans fell to the floor and he picked them up, frowning as his bunch of keys fell out of a pocket. He flung his jeans onto the pile with the other clothes and bent down to pick up the keys, wincing a little as the Guinness and the whiskey made his head spin. He dropped down onto the bed in his t-shirt and boxers, the keys still in his hand.

The room was horrible. The dingy lightbulb, the peeling wallpaper, the damp patch by the sink. There was nothing here of James Dempsey, nothing homely and warm, it was Jimmy O'Malley through and through, and frankly, Jimmy was a loser.

Dempsey looked down at the keys in his hand. Turned them around until he found hers. Squeezed it hard between his fingers, thinking about her house, the warm fire in the grate, the soft couch. He missed her house. He missed her. He looked again at the keys, thinking of the man in her bed, then threw them across the room towards the dirty laundry pile.

AN: Chapter 2 is nearly ready, hope you have enjoyed this one.