Dempsey was far more nervous than he would have admitted, had anybody asked him. A self-conscious smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as they entered the restaurant, which was, he decided, classy but understated; sophisticated without being too 'la-di-dah'. He put an arm around Harry's waist to guide her, allowing his hand to travel slowly over her hip and back to her waist as they walked to the table to which the waiter showed them.

Pulling out Harry's chair with an exaggerated bow, James grinned up at his best friend with sparkling eyes. A feeling akin to relief washed over him as Harry sat down with pointed primness, before collapsing into giggles over the menu which the waiter gave her. Sparing her a wink, Dempsey turned his attention to the menu, hiding his face behind it.

They chuckled over their menus and sniggered into their drinks, quite unable to keep from making each other laugh. Dempsey felt as though he was on a high from the release, from the falling of the barriers he usually had to build between them to conceal his affection. He didn't have to guard his expression any longer; didn't have to watch his words to make sure they did not betray him. He felt more relaxed than he had done in a long time; maybe since he had first met her.

"See, ain't this fun, Princess? I told ya, we shoulda done this months ago." The mirth dropped briefly from his expression as he added in a low voice, "Years, even."

To his relief, Harry met his gaze and smiled, though she said nothing. The still moment was interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, which they accepted eagerly, and for a few minutes they occupied themselves with the business of eating. Dempsey deemed it acceptable but a little cold; Harry pronounced hers to be rather salty, but good.

"Here, try it."

"I believe you," Harry responded, still tucking into her own lunch and ignoring the spoon waving in front of her face.

"Come on, just a bit," Dempsey insisted, for whom this had now become a game. He moved it towards her until she had no choice but to accept; as he fed her, he deliberately wiped some on her nose. Harry pursed her lips and glared at him; and he cracked up laughing, wondering at the fact that she still somehow managed to retain her dignity, even with food up her nose!

"James, I'm going to kill you for this," she promised sweetly, picking up her serviette.

Dempsey played abashed and kept his eyes fixed sheepishly on his plate as Harry attempted to clean up, then shot him another glare before going back to her lunch.

After a few minutes, James sensed that the movement had stopped; he looked up and caught Harry gazing at him. Her lips were smiling, but her eyebrows were pulled down a little; the overall effect was that she looked bemused, and maybe slightly lost, as though she couldn't quite remember where she was or how she had got there. No sooner had he noticed her expression than it ceased, as Harry looked down again, a protective curtain of hair falling to hide her face.

"You're beautiful," he said simply, and was rewarded by a hint of red entering her cheeks. He had always known it, of course, but this was a different beauty, the beauty of Harry laughing at something he had said, the beauty of the colour in her cheeks as she flushed at his compliments, the beauty of happiness in his presence; this was the beauty that was Harry on a date with him, and everything this fact meant. It meant she was as willing as he was to mould their friendship into something different - into what, he wasn't yet sure.

Harry started up a conversation about something ordinary, as though determined to pretend that he could not affect her in the way he could see that he could, and he followed her lead.

After a few minutes, they lapsed into a comfortable silence, a silence between friends for whom words are not required.

"When I was nine, I made friends with a boy called Thomas," Dempsey said abruptly. "We were mates all the way through school. In high school, someone found out he was gay. He was bullied and beat up so badly and so often that he killed himself about a month after that."

There was understanding in Harry's eyes as she laid her hand over his, and he knew she was thinking back to the time he had so strongly asserted his sexuality while pretending he was homosexual for a case.

James paused. "I never really got over it," he said with a shrug, trying to act like it didn't still affect him as strongly as it did. There was residual guilt mixed up with his sorrow; guilt that he hadn't stood up for his friend.

"It wasn't your fault," Harry said softly, and James was unnerved by how well she knew him.

"I may not have called him names but I sure as hell didn't help him, either," he replied. "I just stood back and let him think it really was a crime to love people."

Harry sat up straighter, and Dempsey saw the look on her face which told him that she had just thought of something very important.