Post Daish, this came into my head and it was as if Series 3 made sense. Guardian Angel is good but strange if you think about Dempsey arriving too late to the van in Our of Darkness. I wonder if him dying/not dying was an excuse for Harry leaving because of something else. Two parts I think but they do run away a bit. Sort of follows on from chapter 7 of 'What does love look like', the one with Chas.
All she wanted was chips. A craving for them and to sit with Dempsey.
She realised that between Dempsey claiming he needed her, then actually needing her and knowing she also needed him, food had been abandoned.
Salad, all forms of greenery and tomatoes were abandoned at the thought of thick fingers of potato, fried in oil with a liberal dose of salt and a side of thick buttered bread.
In her fridge was a sad, half empty bottle of milk, some tired greens and a radish. She hadn't eaten a great deal lately and, much like Dempsey, found comfort from his absence in daytime drinks, disguised as posh champagne.
She needed chips and a side of Dempsey. Or the other way around.
She could have cried at the empty bread bin as she tried to remember it if was Thursday or Friday. Thursday. Spikings had given Dempsey tomorrow off to 'sort it out' and she needs to do the same, with him before her nerves fail her again.
Glory came when Dempsey tracked her down on the phone. She told him her desire for unhealthy food and he paused, and told her to get a cab to a bar near his flat. She dressed as if for a date, avoiding the urge to question why she was preening herself, popping on a distracting set of underwear which he'd not seen before and a slinky skirt with a jumper that screamed 'touch me.'
If the bar didn't have food, she'd eat him instead.
She saw him, elegantly dateable in a matching blue suit as if they'd dressed for each other. He'd worn that when he'd fallen on a sofa, protecting her from a bomb. Not that she makes a habit of admiring his wardrobe but that was notable. It felt like he'd dressed to catch her eye for a long time and lately he'd migrated to thick sweaters and comfortable clothes, the sort of items one might wear in the honeymoon of a new relationship. The black shirt made an appearance earlier, he knows she liked that and she had often thought of opening more of the buttons.
He's sat with his back towards her but she can see a half empty beer glass and a packet of hula hoops on the table in the booth seat by the window. She may propose with a crisp if he has ordered food, just to prepare him for Dempsey and Makepeace part two. She kisses his cheek instead, surprising him as she walks up from behind.
He pushes a plate of warm 'fries' towards her. "You look like you could do with a drink also."
"I'll get it." She says, because she needs to spend the time with him first. She orders tonic water with lemon and a beer for him.
She watches from where she stands at the bar, comfortable in this environment, in this country and wonders why she thought he would leave. The crisp packet is empty, regrettably.
"You look beautiful." He tells her, sliding onto the seat opposite her.
"My feet hurt," She confesses. After she's eaten the chips, sipped her drink and she's got the measure of his mood and noted that he hasn't stopped smiling since the dive team arrived and Chas had sounded delighted to hear from her on the radio. They've bitched about dinosaurs, her feet are in his lap, curled on his thighs as if nothing else mattered.
"You want me to massage these?" Dempsey begins anyway. He's touched every part of her, there's no permission needed but it's nice that he asks. She thinks he's a keeper but hopes he's strong enough for them all.
A new waitress clears the table. She orders coffee and he asks for beer.
"There's a dart board." He says. "Do you play?"
"Not darts." The temptation to try is too big as they abandon their coats and attempt their luck. At least they're standing up, she doesn't think pool would be a good idea for many reasons.
Harry establishes that she's not very good. Two bounce on the crispy carpet near feet. They acquire an inattentive audience, his skill and her body combined and she thinks it's ironic, given what she knows. He's gently stood behind her and taking her arm in his. More hit the target than not, thankfully. Oh, the irony of his aim being on point, of course it is.
"I'm better with a Smith and Wesson model ten." Harry sighs and Dempsey agrees she's a great shot usually. If only he knew her hands shake when she's not distracted and her mind lingers on the secret she can't say.
The words attracted a murmur of interest, as if Harry herself wasn't already captivating. A man slides up to him as she returns from the bathroom, "She's yours?"
She can see Dempsey consider this, a tilt to the head and a bashful grin, she's amazed he's even thinking about it, she belong to herself most days but today isn't that day. "Sort of. I guess she's my someone."
The walk home is pleasant and she makes the most of his company, almost certain that it will come to an end within the hour.
"Thank you for the fries." Harry says and thinks that there's a meeting in the middle, of language, food and play. She likes it.
"Can I tell you something?" Dempsey pauses and she wonders what other revelations he has. She holds her own.
"You can tell me anything, you should know that by now." Harry means it.
"There was a guy at the bar, he asked if you were with me." Dempsey says.
"And what did you say?" Harry nods, but finds herself looking at his thoughtful face, tilted to the side and a bashful grin. She heard but it'll be interesting to hear him talk about it.
He shrugs as he did back at the bar, "I said 'sort of, that you're my someone'."
She nods, clinging to the reassurance that this gives.
He walks on, but pauses outside his front door, "How come you didn't yell at me about my answer?"
"I agree with you." She replies knowing that this is the time to tell, as he unlocks the door and she follows him into the hall, dust motes flying and the distance buzz of the fridge in the kitchen.
He looks at her with a grin that falls as he catches sight of her nervous face. He thinks she's the one who will run away."You wanna stay over?"
"Yes, that would be good." She follows his happy face into the flat and anything she wanted to say, dies on her lips as he kisses her. They've only just got back to each other. She'll tell him tomorrow, or the day after.