Strangely, I'm finding it easier to write thoughts for Dempsey than for Harry; despite the fact that she says a lot less, she actually seems to hide less.


1.07 Makepeace, Not War

One Shot

As Dempsey sat in the car, gun in hand, he was nervous. Not that he would have admitted it to anyone, had they asked, especially not to Harry. But there was a tightness in his chest so constricting that he could hardly breathe as he waited to shoot the woman he had, despite himself, learned to respect over the scant couple of weeks he had known her.

As Makepeace sat in her house, t-shirt in hand, she was pretty nervous too. Had anyone asked, she probably would have denied it. But as she waited to let a man she had only known for a few weeks point a loaded gun at her, she was unable to think about anything else.

Dempsey thought about the war. This waiting felt like that; plenty of time to consider what you were about to do. And all the while your heart was pounding, the blood was rushing in your ears, you were cold on the inside and sweating on the outside. The only difference was that his own life was not in danger.

Harry changed into the t-shirt and waited. Eternity seemed to fly by, at once an age and a moment. When her and Dempsey's agreed time arrived, she steeled herself, opened the front door, and stepped outside. Instinct shouted at her to curl up, or run away, but she had to be convincing.

Opening the window, Dempsey resigned himself to what he had to do, and took very careful aim, frowning in fear and licking his lips in an expression of diverted anxiety. If he was off by a single inch... He clenched the gun more firmly.

The sound of the gun split the air, and Makepeace fell to the ground. Dempsey strained to see if he had got it right, but all he could see was his partner rolling down the hard stone steps. He dropped the gun and jumped out of the car to collect the t-shirt and make sure she was okay. To his utmost relief, there was no blood around her. He cracked a joke about her acting skills to reassure himself, pulled the t-shirt over Makepeace's head and ran.

Harry felt someone moving her hair, then heard Spikings' voice saying "Get a blanket, Chas."

Back in the car, Dempsey found the hole in the shirt. Then he noticed the blood. What had he done? He rubbed the red substance between his fingers, then to his horror an ambulance blared past. He watched it go, hardly daring to breathe.

By the time they reached the house, he had managed to gather himself, but the news report, the view of Spikings announcing the death of an unnamed officer, brought his doubts back to the surface. The plan had, after all, been to fake her death, but this seemed all too realistic.

Dempsey had never been so glad to have a gun pointed at him as he was in that dark parking lot. His lewd words covered his relieved smile as he tried to act like he had not been worried. The steak had been a clever touch - it had certainly convinced him. Now if only he could convince himself that he had only been concerned about his aim.