The second version, as promised. Dempsey was shot after the two of them got together - probably a month or so after. Strangely, it's not really that depressing…
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Harry sat on her sofa, staring into nothingness. The TV was on but she wasn't watching it. She wondered if she sat here long enough could she just fade away, cease to exist?
Oblivion, that was what she wanted. Silence and numbness, away from this house. She'd spent the last few nights at his flat, but it was beginning to smell of her instead of him. Better to be somewhere that was supposed to smell of her.
There was a full cup of black coffee going cold at her feet, an uneaten hot dog slowly decaying in the bin. She was wearing nothing but a man's shirt. She sat there for a long time.
She'd been with him when it happened; that was some small comfort. The pain felt sharper, more distinct, but at least she could believe in it. She'd held his hand as he died, rested his head on her lap as he breathed his last. The bullet had gone straight into his heart. He'd been dead before the ambulance arrived. At least he didn't suffer too much.
"Life is hard and then you die," he'd struggled out. "Don't miss me too much, Tiger. I love you."
"I love you too, I love you more than anything, please don't leave me," she'd sobbed back. He never replied.
Eventually, Harry dragged herself upstairs to lie in a hot bath. Salty tears fell into sweet-smelling bathwater. On the side of the bath was a razor and for just one crazy moment the image of lying in blood-red bathwater flitted through her head. Before she could even contemplate the thought again she threw the razor away from her in disgust at herself and to the other side of the bathroom - not before she noted it was a man's razor. James'. She sat up and looked around the bathroom. There was an extra toothbrush in the cup, his aftershave on the shelf. Getting out of the bath and wrapping a towel around herself, she breathed in the smell of him before padding outside to see if there was anything else of his.
Dripping water, she went into her bedroom. His socks sprawled on her dressing table. His clothes hanging in her wardrobe. His underwear in her laundry basket!
She explored the rest of her house as though it was foreign to her. Evidence of him was everywhere - his cereal in the kitchen, his tie lying over the back of the chair.
Despite everything, Harry felt a laugh bubbling up inside of her. "Lieutenant James bloody Dempsey," she spoke aloud, "you cheeky little sod. You've been moving in with me, haven't you? I bet you haven't been home in weeks!" Shaking her head at him, she tied his tie around her wrist like a bracelet, put his aftershave on it, and got dressed in black. She had a funeral to go to.