Prizefighter, the morning after the drinks at the bar, a short riff about the yelp at the desk, arriving together and pretending to shoot Fry.
She stayed over last night.
Dempsey is a little punch drunk not from the cocktail he conjured up but from waking up with Harry in his bed. He feels reckless as if life isn't hard and he won't die.
But they missed the alarm and he's lead footing down the South Circular and Harry is agitated beside him. Their case load is crazy and they wanted to be early. Spikings is waiting.
"I smell like your soap." She sniffs her sleeve.
He leans over and inhales, "Nice."
"Stop smelling, keep driving." She rummages through her handbag for their cards, slipping his into the inside pocket of his jacket as they sit at the traffic lights. He feels his heart pitch at the domesticity of it. "How did we sleep through?"
"You're wearing me out?" He offers with a grin that widens as she blushes, clipping her gun into her holster.
"Don't be so... you." Harry glares, but there's a smile on her lips, "I'm trying to find you unattractive."
"And it's working out over there for you?" He swings the car left with a sly smile.
Harry ignores him, "We need to be discrete."
"There's been rumours for ages." He shrugs.
"But arriving late, together is obvious."
"And true." He counters and then feels worried, "Are you ashamed?"
"We've been to the sell out concert of the year, I danced with you all night and we kissed in front of all my friends. I'm hardly ashamed. I just like my private life to be that when it comes to work." Harry says, checking her lipstick. "We have a meeting with Spikings, the office is small and I smell like you."
"At least we got to shower, after last night…" His voice is a low growl as he recalls christening the rooms in his apartment.
"Dempsey, I cannot think about last night." She replies, firmly.
"And this morning." He adds, unable to stop his eyes running over her body.
"Please let's try to be our usual selves." She says quietly, "If you so much as touch me, I might fall apart."
His fingers grip the steering wheel a little tighter. "You'll have to stop talking to me like that then."
"How?"
"Your voice, it turns me on." He confesses, feeling feverish, hearing echoes of the noises she made in his bed when he touched her. "American or English accents, it's sexy."
"You can talk. Actually please don't, not like that." She sighs and he files this information away for later use. "How did we cope before?"
"Visual stimulation and innuendo?" He suggests.
"You should have been fired just for looking through my bedroom door - yes I knew, there was a mirror - and the incident in the wardrobe. You're very lucky."
"Yup, I know. No idea why you didn't." He says sheepishly. "I'm sorry."
"I liked some parts of you. I like other parts even more now." She retorts and he thinks she looks like her perfectly composed self.
"Nobody is going to suspect anything." He reassures her softly. "You're the most professional person I know. So what if we're a bit late today?"
"And if they do?"
"I'll distract them, pretend to shoot Fry or something." He parks the car up outside the building. "You ready?"
She wriggles as they walk upstairs. "I'm wearing your boxers. It was that or no underwear."
"You are?" Despite his promises, he has to quickly check as he grabs their post from her hands, grinning as she yelps and slipping his hand away from her ass before anyone sees.