She has one foot on the bottom stair, a mug of tea in one hand and a book in the other when the phone rings, and her heart sinks. After ten on a Friday night can usually only mean work and she really doesn't want to spend this weekend up to her armpits in whatever London's finest criminals have to offer. All she wanted tonight was to be in bed before eleven with a mug of tea and enough energy left to read at least a few pages of the book she's barely picked up in days. Sighing, she turns, puts her tea on the table, and picks up the phone, surprised to hear her partner's voice on the end of the line, slurring slightly, if she's not mistaken.

"Harry, hey, did I wake you? Um, sorry if I did...wake you. It's late, I guess. Did I wake you?" He's drunk, she can tell, but there's a note of something else in his voice too. Sadness, she thinks.

"No, Dempsey, I wasn't asleep." She leans back against the table and stares out of the window, almost certain her early night has just gone flying out of it. "Are you alright?"

"Not really. I wanted one more drink, just one, but this guy here says no, I've had enough, and won't serve me. Thinks he's my mother or something."

She almost laughs at that, at how indignant he sounds, but then she realises if he's being refused another drink then he really must be pretty drunk, and that worries her because it's not like him. He likes a drink to wind down, same as she does, same as most people, but he's really not the 'drown his sorrows after a rotten day' type. If either of them does have a tendency towards that, it's her, and she still blushes thinking about what that led to...or almost led to, probably would have led to but for his decency, the last time she sought solace in a bottle.

"Where are you?" They left work not long after six so it's hardly a surprise he's reached his limit by now if he's been drinking ever since.

"I'm standing at the bar, Harry." He drags her name out, the way he usually does only when he wants something from her, when he needs her to come round to his way of thinking. "You know, the place where the dude behind it is supposed to get you a drink."

"Which pub, Dempsey?" She's trying not to get annoyed with him but he's not making it easy.

"The Dog in a Hat, or something, I don't know." He sighs and she finds herself doing the same thing. "You know how it is, all the pubs here have stupid names. Anyway, I told this guy I'd call you and you'd tell him to just give me another drink because I'm no slouch, I can hold my liquor. Wait, hang on, I'm going to put him on the phone."

"Dempsey, no, I-"

She stops as a voice comes over the line, sounding the way she often does when Dempsey drives her crazy, but without the hint of endearment she's almost sure underpins her tone even when she's yelling at him.

"Listen, I can't serve your boyfriend here another drink, darlin', he's wasted. I've taken his keys off him too, there's no way in hell he can drive. He said I should call you and you'd tell me to shut up and give him another drink." There's a pause and she wonders just how much trouble Dempsey is giving the poor man. "I really think it might be a better idea if he calls it a night."

Ten minutes later she's in the car, wondering what the hell she's doing heading for a pub she's never heard of at almost eleven on a Friday night to pick up her clearly drunk partner. He was quiet today and when she asked if he was okay he just said he hadn't slept well, but she's starting to realise now that there must be more to it than that. When she spots his car she knows she's found the place, but she has no idea how he ended up here, nowhere near to work or to where he lives, and as she walks in she realises it might be the crappiest pub she's ever been in, and she's been in more than a few. Ignoring the curious and slightly lecherous looks from the small handful of jaded looking patrons, she heads for where she sees him sitting at the bar, tapping him softly on the shoulder when she reaches him.

"Harry!" He grins, a wide and slightly wobbly grin, and his eyes are glassy as he has to concentrate to focus on her. "Hiya, princess."

"Well, it certainly looks like one of us has had fun this evening." She returns his grin and drops her hand from his shoulder.

"This is my...this is Harry." Dempsey points at her as he grins at the barman. "You know, she said once that I was her guardian angel, but man, she's mine, she really is. I mean, look at her, she even looks like an angel, right? She's so tough though, she saves me every damn day."

"That I do." She watches warily as he climbs off the stool and her arm automatically reaches out to steady him as he sways slightly before she turns to the barman. "Does he owe you anything?"

"Nope, we're all squared off." The barman smiles and reaches under the bar, handing Dempsey's keys to her. "Here, you'd better hang onto these. Can you manage with him?"

"I'll be fine, thanks. My car is right outside." She returns the smile and moves to take Dempsey's arm, hoping she's right and they can make it to the car with him still standing. "Come on, hotshot, let's get you home."

In the car he sinks down slightly in the passenger seat, sighing as he gazes at her with a vaguely faraway look in his eyes. He makes a handful of attempts at putting his seatbelt on before she eventually tires of watching him struggle and decides to intervene, fearing they could be here all night if she waits for him. She reaches over and he raises his eyebrows and grabs her hand.

"Would you work with me a little bit here please? We need to get your seatbelt on or we're not going to get anywhere." She tries to pull her hand back but he keeps hold of it, squeezing her fingers in his as his lips curve into a drowsy smile. "I don't know about you but I don't particularly like the idea of spending the night sitting outside this pub."

"I'd spend the night anywhere as long as it was with you, Harry." He sighs as she manages to free her hand from his so she can reach for his seatbelt. "Were you out tonight? Did you go somewhere fancy? You look pretty."

"I'm wearing leggings and a sweatshirt, Dempsey." She shakes her head and manages somehow to fasten his seatbelt finally, despite the awkward angle he seems to have chosen to sit at.

"I know." His grin widens and he refuses to take his eyes off her as she starts the engine. "Pretty."

"Apart from obviously being more than a little bit worse for wear, are you feeling okay?" He frowns and she realises she's going to need to clarify. "Do I need to find something for you to potentially throw up into, Dempsey?"

"Oh! Nope, I'm good. I'm just going to sit here and look at you."

"Right, well…" She can't say she's surprised, he spends plenty of time looking at her when he's sober, he just doesn't usually announce his intentions. "I'm sure that won't be at all unnerving while I'm trying to drive."

"Hey, it's not my fault you're so beautiful, Harry."

He shrugs and she shakes her head, trying to ignore the way her stomach flips over and the flush she feels moving into her cheeks. They drive in silence for a while and when they stop at a set of traffic lights she turns to see him grinning at her again, a grin so sweetly infectious that she finds herself returning it. Again she wonders what happened in between them saying goodnight after work and his drunken call a few hours later.

"Where are we going?" He sounds confused and she's honestly surprised he's even noticed where they are, let alone that they're not heading towards his house.

"My place." She turns her eyes back to the road. "Your car is still outside that pub so I'm going to have to pick you up tomorrow to drive you back over there to collect it anyway. If you stay at my house tonight it will save me a drive in the morning."

"You don't have to drive me back over there, Harry." He pauses and when she glances over at him he's still grinning at her. "I can just...you know, take the bus or something."

"What's the name of the pub, Dempsey?" She's almost certain he has no idea what the pub was called, and she's positive he couldn't find it tomorrow without help.

"The Duck in a Coat...Dog in a Hat. Something like that." He shrugs and his grins slips just slightly. "It'll come back to me when I've had some sleep."

"It's fine, I'll drive you over there, and besides, if you're at my house tonight I'll know you're okay."

"See…" He shifts in his seat and waves his finger in her direction. "Just like I told that guy in the bar, you're my angel."

He doesn't say anything else and she wonders for a few minutes if he's fallen asleep, but when she looks over at him he's awake and his eyes are focused on her, his gaze drifting across her face, down her neck, and to her hands on the wheel. She forces her attention back to the road, recalling the night she introduced him to Angela as her guardian angel, surprised tonight to hear him describe her in the very same way. As she pulls into her driveway she feels his hand on her arm and his eyes on her again, and she senses he has something to say but he stays silent, hesitant.

"Come on." She rests her hand on his for just a few seconds before letting go and smiling at him. "Let's get you some water and some early intervention in the form of paracetamol."

"You know what I'm not going to do, Harry? I'm definitely not going to fall asleep in your hallway." There's a glint in his eyes as he smiles at her and she feels her cheeks heat up under his stare. "Even if it looks like the most comfortable floor ever."

"I'm glad to hear it. I think I might have considerably more difficulty carrying you upstairs than you did me." She bites her lip, wishing like she always does that there weren't quite as many blank parts to her memories of that night.

"I'll always carry you wherever you need to go, princess." His tone is laced with a sweetness, a warm sincerity that matches his gentle smile. "Your eyes are so blue tonight."

"They're no more blue than any other time, Dempsey." His compliments run freely when he's bolstered by alcohol and not trying to hold back, she's noticed that before, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't like it. "We're in a dark car, you can't possibly even see them properly anyway."

"Well I can. I can see them just fine, and they're like big, deep pools...no, oceans. Big, deep oceans. I like it when you look at me, Harry."

"Come on, you old charmer, let's get inside. It's late and I want to make sure you drink at least one glass of water before you go to bed."

"Or beer?" He grins, apparently suddenly much more awake at the thought of another drink. "Beer would be good."

"Yes, I'm sure it would but I think you've probably had enough beer for tonight."

In the kitchen she watches as he stumbles heavily into a chair and rests his elbows on the table. She fills the biggest glass she can find and puts it down in front of him, smiling at his mussed hair and slightly glassy eyes. Turning back to the kitchen drawer she can feel his eyes on her as she pulls out a packet of paracetamol and sets them on the table next to his glass.

"Thanks." He reaches for her, aiming for her hand, she thinks, but missing by quite some distance as she feels his hand come to rest on her leg, his thumb pressing on her hip bone and his fingers curled against the back of her thigh. "Oops."

"Yes...oops." She knows she probably shouldn't enjoy the feel of his warm hand sitting dangerously high on the back of her leg, but she does, and she instinctively pushes herself tighter into his touch, watching him, her breath seeming to catch in her throat for what feels like hours.

"Harry, I..." His words die on his lips when she pushes her hand into his hair, her fingers acting almost of their own accord, beyond all her control. "Oh...God, that's good."

"You have really great hair, Dempsey, do you know that?"

"When you were drunk that night you told me that...you don't remember, do you? God, you were really something that night, Harry, you were like your usual self but even sexier, which I didn't even think was possible. You said I had nice hair and you kissed me just a tiny bit and then you got real pissed at me for being a gentleman. So confusing...I mean, it's not like I didn't want you. I always want you, how could I not?"

He sighs and there's a frown forming on his face as she tries not to focus her thoughts on how his lips felt under hers that night, even if it was just for a few seconds before he moved deftly into chivalrous mode and stopped things from going any further. She knows he wanted her, she's always known he wants her, but what that night cemented in her mind was just how much she wants him. Every day they flirt, they bicker, they surreptitiously watch each other, and as the days pass she knows she's in more and more trouble, her defences getting lower, her courage building, and she wonders what it will take for their invisible line to finally be crossed.

"It's okay, I know it was only because you were smashed. I get that." He has that all wrong, so wrong. The alcohol gave her the courage, but the urge to kiss him had been there for a long time, she can acknowledge that now. "I know I'm a pain in your ass most of the time. I know I drive you crazy."

"You do." She smiles and steps back, placing the safety of the table between them, her trust in herself shattered somewhat by the gentle pressure of his fingers, by the feelings stirring inside her. The sudden honesty of their conversation sends a ripple of warning through her; they've had a long week, it's late, she's tired, and he's drunk. "But not always in a bad way."

"You drive me crazy in all the good ways too, Harry. Sometimes I...nope, never mind, I should stop talking." He stops and grins, making her wonder if he's forgotten what he was about to say or if he's simply decided against it.

"It wasn't only because I was drunk out of my mind, Dempsey." She doesn't know what possesses her to tell him that, perhaps a glimmer of the suggestion that he may not remember it when he wakes up in the morning. She keeps her eyes locked on his and smiles when his grin grows wider. "Anyway...did you eat dinner or did you skip right to the drinking?"

"Yeah, I ate dinner. I had a chicken sandwich and a chocolate bar." He sounds more proud of himself than anyone should for simply remembering to eat, especially considering that she knows that absolutely was not what he ate for dinner.

"I hate to break it to you but that was lunch, not dinner, and I know that because I had the exact same thing." She raises an eyebrow and he shrugs. "Would you do something for me?"

"I'd do anything for you, angel, you know that." Again, the sweet smile that threatens to smash her resolve into a thousand tiny shards. "What do you want me to do?"

"Drink that glass of water, take some of those painkillers, and tell me if you need something to eat before you get some sleep."

"Nope, I'm not hungry. I don't think I'm hungry, I don't know...no, I'm good. I'm not hungry." A sudden gloom clouds his expression and he lets out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"Well, I'm not sure I'm a very cheerful drunk. Not tonight anyway."

"I'll have to check the rulebook, Dempsey, but from what I remember I don't think being a cheerful drunk is mandatory." She smiles at him because he looks so disappointed, like he might prefer to be dancing around her kitchen rather than sitting at the table.

"Yeah, but you're a great drunk, Harry, you're a fun drunk. You're a flirty drunk too, I remember that. I remember thinking damn, I wish she'd kiss me when she was sober so I know she means it."

"Dempsey…" She wishes the same thing, but she knows too that talking about it now, when she has no way of knowing what he will or won't remember in the morning, isn't going to get them anywhere.

"I know, I know…" He sighs and a resigned frown settles on his face. "Never going to happen."

"That's not what I was going to say...never say never, partner." She smiles at him, looking right into his eyes and wondering if a moment like this will ever arise when one of them isn't under the influence of way too much alcohol to act on it without fearing they may have ruined what they have together. "I'm going to the bathroom and when I come back I want to see that glass empty and those painkillers gone. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am. I hear you." He grins and gives her a clumsy salute. "So bossy…"

"Don't pretend you don't like it."

"I love it." He smirks and reaches for the painkillers, popping two out of the packet and making a show of taking them before she walks out of the room.

In the bathroom she brushes her teeth and wonders when they each became the first person the other one calls when something happens, tries to remember when his phone number turned from one in an address book to one her fingers know so well she could dial it in the dark. It's been a slow, gradual shift from colleagues who irritate each other to colleagues who respect each other, from colleagues who enjoy each other's company to friends who need each other, and all with an undercurrent of something more, something that hangs in the air between them like an over-inflated balloon threatening to pop at any moment. As soon as she takes the spare bedding out of the wardrobe she knows what his reaction will be, she can almost hear him insisting he can't take her bed, and thinking about how well she knows him makes her smile.

"There's a toothbrush and a towel in the bathroom for you. I don't have anything you can wear to sleep in, sorry, I…" She looks at him, noticing he has a t-shirt under his shirt, and the image of him between her sheets in just that and his shorts knocks her into a distracted silence before she shakes herself out of it and smiles at him. "Go up and get some sleep, Dempsey."

"Up? Upstairs?" He seems to realise he's been given her bed and he frowns at her as he starts to protest. "No way. I'm good on the couch, really. I already dragged you halfway across town to pick me up, I can't let you give up your bed too."

"It's fine, Dempsey, honestly."

"How am I going to get any sleep knowing you're sleeping in a chair in your own damn house?" He shakes his head and looks so worried that she can't help but smile at him and his drunken seriousness. "I mean, shit, Harry."

"You make it sound like I'm planning to sleep at the kitchen table." She smiles and walks past him into the living room, dropping the bedding on the couch, aware of him hovering behind her. "Consider it a thank you for carrying me upstairs and never mentioning it again."

"Told you I'd carry you anywhere and I meant it."

"Well, I'll remember that. I'm not sure you wouldn't drop me on my arse if you tried it tonight though." She can't stop her hand reaching for him, her fingers unable to resist running softly down his arm. "For once, just do as you're told and get some sleep."

"This always happens, doesn't it? One of us is wasted and the other one is stone cold sober...I wonder what would happen if we were both equal amounts smashed one of these nights. Do you ever think about that? Probably not, huh?"

"I..." Her first instinct is to say no, to tell him she nevers ponders that at all, but he's looking at her like he can see inside her mind, like he can read the very centre of her soul, and she can't stop the total honesty as it flows freely from her lips. "I do, yes. I...think about it a lot, actually."

"One day, Harry…" His eyes stay fixed on hers and she feels herself growing warm under the intensity of his gaze. "One day I'm going to kiss you when we're both totally sober and you're never going to want anyone else to kiss you again. For the rest of your life."

When he stands up from the table she thinks, just for one almost heart-stopping instant, that he's about to ignore the 'when we're both completely sober' part of his declaration and kiss her right here in her kitchen, at almost midnight, and suddenly all she feels is sheer, ridiculous relief that her teeth are clean. Then he steps closer and runs a slow, gentle finger down the side of her face, sighing and giving her a soft smile as he steps back.

"Goodnight, princess."

She watches him walk away, steady enough on his feet that at least she doesn't have to worry that he might come crashing down her staircase, the staircase he somehow managed to carry her up the night she apparently decided to lie down and sleep in the hallway. She's less sure of her own steadiness and there's a wobble in her legs that wasn't there before his finger brushed tenderly across her skin. Does he know the effect he has on her, she wonders, or does she hide it better than she thinks?

"Good morning." She looks up at him as he stands awkwardly in the doorway, his hand running nervously through his hair as he smiles at her. "I made coffee. I didn't know if you were going to feel the kind of awful that wants breakfast or the kind where you'd rather die than eat."

"Oh, hey, don't worry about it, I should probably just get out of your hair, let you get on with your Saturday. Remind me again where the hell that pub is and I'll figure it out..."

"Sit down, Dempsey." She stands up and pours him a coffee, putting it on the table and waving at him to sit down. "Do you want toast?"

"Thanks...um, yeah, toast would be great." He sits and wraps his hands around the mug, his eyes landing on the book she was reading. "The Grapes of Wrath, huh? Not sure I had you pegged as a Steinbeck fan."

"Well maybe you don't quite know everything about me."

"No, maybe I don't." He smiles at her and she wonders how he can look so remarkably fresh, all things considered. "Hey, uh...thanks for last night, Harry."

"It's fine. I think we're probably even now." She drops bread into the toaster and refills her mug. "So...are you going to tell me what last night was all about."

"It was nothing...not really." She leans back against the counter and glances over at him, noting the faint frown on his face. "Doesn't matter now."

"Come on, Dempsey, I drove halfway across London last night and I'm going to do the same today so you can pick up your car. The least you can do is tell me what it was all about."

"Yesterday was ten years since my father died. I guess I just…" He shrugs and she waits for him to go on. "I guess I didn't want to sit home alone and stew on it."

"Oh, Dempsey, I'm sorry." She turns to reach for a plate, dropping his toast onto it. "You should have said something yesterday, we could have gone for a drink together after work and maybe you wouldn't have ended up in what might possibly be London's worst pub."

"I wasn't planning on drinking that much, I wasn't really planning on drinking at all. I just needed to get out so I went for a drive. I was…" He pauses and she looks over at him, curious about the reason for his hesitation. "I almost came over here but I didn't know if you'd be home or if you were busy, and I didn't want to just show up uninvited."

"Well, I was home, I wasn't busy, and you've never let being uninvited stop you before." She grins as she walks across the kitchen towards him. "You can always come here if you need to, Dempsey, you know that. And I'm almost positive I have better alcohol here than they were serving you over in deepest, darkest Lewisham last night."

"You wouldn't have refused to serve me one last drink either…" He smirks because he knows he's right, and because he knows she would have been drinking with him too. "I should've said something, Harry, you're right. I'm sorry, I know I was probably a real pain in the ass yesterday."

"It's a good thing I'm used to that then, isn't it?" She grins and sits back down, setting the plate in front of him, pointing at the butter and jam already on the table."You said you were tired when I asked so I just thought that was why you were so snappy. I wish you'd told me."

"We weren't...close, me and my dad. He wasn't exactly the easiest guy in the world to be around. He drank too much, had a shitty temper, he wasn't...he really wasn't a happy man, and sometimes he took that out on us. On us kids mostly, but sometimes my mom too." He pauses and she moves her hand to rest on his, watching as his gaze shifts, drifting down and focusing on her fingers before he looks back up at her. "I'm not even sure I miss him, and I hate saying that to you because I know I was lucky to have him around for so much longer than you had your mom-"

"They're two totally different situations, Dempsey. You feel how you feel, please don't feel guilty on my account. I'm sorry your father was...well, I'm sorry you had a difficult relationship with him. That can't have been easy."

"My mom loved him though, and I'd do anything for her, you know that." She loves how much he adores his mother, it was the thing that made her question the authenticity of his brash behaviour, his initial rudeness, because someone who loves his mother with such fierce devotion absolutely must be a good man. "They were married for a long time, she still misses him."

"I'm sure." She squeezes his fingers softly before pulling her hand back. "She must miss you too."

"Yeah. I keep telling her she really needs to get over here for a visit. She'd love it. The palaces, the shopping, afternoon tea, all of that." He takes a mouthful of coffee and then smiles at her over the top of his mug. "And she'd really love you, Harry."

"Mothers always love me, Dempsey." She would love to meet his mother, she's spoken to her on the phone a few times and she has a strong feeling they'd get on like a house on fire. "They tend to think I'm a lot sweeter than I am."

"Oh, I don't know. I could be wrong but I think underneath that tough girl exterior of yours you're nothing but sweetness."

"Maybe I am, but if you tell anyone that I may have to shoot you." He knows she's tough but he knows too that sometimes it's a front, a necessary facade at work, and he's seen her with her guard down enough to really know her by now. "I'd really like to meet your mother. You've met my father...numerous times, actually, so it seems only fair that I should meet the mysterious Mrs Dempsey."

"There's nothing mysterious about my mom, Harry. She'll tell you how great you are around five minutes into meeting you, I know that much, and then I'd give her fifteen minutes maximum before she's all 'Jimmy, that girl is gorgeous, what are you waiting for?!'"

"And what will you tell her?" He doesn't seem to have an instant retort and she likes that she's managed to put him on the spot. "More coffee?"

"Yeah, thanks." She takes his mug and stands up, watching as he starts work on his toast, spreading more butter on it than she would have thought possible, then topping it with an equally thick layer of jam. "I guess I'll tell her you're my partner, and my friend, and...it's not a great idea to get your honey where you make your money, isn't that what they say?"

"I think 'don't shit where you eat' is what they say, but when have you ever listened to what anyone says?"

"That's true." He grins, apparently willing to acknowledge his general disobedience.

She thinks about his announcement that one day when they're both sober he's going to kiss her, his observation that they always seem to end up with one of them drunk and the other not, and his musings on what might happen if one day they were to find themselves equally drunk rather than it always being frustratingly one-sided. She wonders how much he remembers of last night, of what he said, of the way he looked at her.

"You didn't do anything terrible last night, you know, in case you were worried."

"Oh, I'm not worried. I stand by everything I said last night." She wonders if that includes his promise to essentially give her what she knows would be the best kiss of her life. God, she hopes so.

"Everything?" She pours more coffee into his mug and sits back down opposite him, watching as he works his way through the slice of toast in his hand.

"Yep." His eyes fix firmly onto hers, he looks like he's thinking about the same thing she is, and her cheeks feel warm at the thought. "Every word, Harry."

She wants to ask him what he remembers, if he plans to make good on his promise, if she's about to be kissed by him and will never want anyone else's lips on hers again, just like he vowed. She can't quite do it though, can't quite turn the knot of words in her brain into a sentence her lips can articulate, and she feels her fingers gripping the handle of her mug in sheer frustration at her own inaction.

"When you say you meant every word, how do I know you actually remember every word?" She pauses long enough to try to unscramble her thoughts but not long enough for her logical side to kick in and send them back into hiding. "For all I know you might not remember a single thing you said after we got back here. You could be bluffing your way through this entire conversation and I'd never know."

"When you got smashed that night, Harry, you made me dance with you, you mixed me a really bad cocktail, then you kissed me and decided to lie down in the hallway to go to sleep." He raises an eyebrow and she blushes, looking away, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact. "Then the next morning you admitted you hardly remembered any of it. So if I didn't remember what I said last night, don't you think I'd just 'fess up and tell you?"

"I...yes, I suppose you would." She realises he's talking about trust, and he's right in that she made it clear she had no memory of half of what happened the night he proved himself without question to be her guardian angel, so it's only fair to assume he would be honest with her if the same were true here. "So what you said about one day when we're both sober, and-"

"That I'm going to kiss you and it's going to be so good you're never going to want to be kissed by anyone but me again?"

"Yes, that." She smiles and pulls her gaze back up, feeling slightly giddy when she sees the look of pure desire burning in his eyes.

"I definitely meant every word of that, but only if it's what you want in the cold light of day and not just when you're being sponsored by tequila." He grins at her but she can see a tinge of uneasiness behind his eyes, an uncertainty that she rarely sees in him at all. She's used to a confident, brazen Dempsey, and she's unfamiliar with the reticent version sitting opposite her, seemingly reluctant to rock their already swaying boat, in spite of his drunken declarations hours earlier.

"I never apologised for that night, did I? Not really, anyway." She sighs, finally deciding that now might be as good a time as any to address it, to make it clear that her feelings that night didn't wear off when the effects of the alcohol did. "I'm sorry I dragged you onto the dancefloor when I knew you really didn't want to dance, I'm sorry you had to scoop me up off the floor of my hallway like a pile of rags at two in the morning, and I'm sorry...well, you already know I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions about what happened, or didn't actually happen."

If courage was petrol, her warning light feels like it's blinking suddenly, and she stops talking, but as she falls silent she knows she's gone too far to end it there. If she doesn't tell him now that the only thing she's sure about from that night was that she wanted to kiss him, and that she still wants to, then she's almost certain she never will. The thought of them dancing around each other forever, of their timing never being right, of him never kissing her the way he promised last night that he would is too much to bear. Her indecision snaps like a twig and her words start to tumble out.

"I'm not sorry that I kissed you that night, Dempsey, but I am sorry that I was far too drunk for you to know if I really wanted it." She lets out a long sigh and pulls her fingers from the mug in front of her, scared that if she grips the handle any tighter she might break it right off. "So much of that night was a muddle, but not that. I did want to kiss you...I do want to kiss you. Some days I want it so badly I can barely look at you, some days I spend so much time biting my lip to fight the urge that it's a miracle I can even speak, I...what?"

He's grinning at her and even though she's not entirely sure why, she can see in his eyes that confident Dempsey is back, that perhaps all he needed was a signal from her. He probably didn't expect it early on a Saturday morning while he was busy slathering strawberry jam on his toast though, and that makes her smile.

"I thought you might want to stop and, you know, take a breath." His smile gets wider and she matches it, feeling something like hope start to blossom in her chest. "So, you want to kiss me, I want to kiss you. To hell with anyone who says we never agree on anything, Harry."

"Our days would be so dull if we agreed on everything though, don't you think?" She stands up and takes her plate over to the sink, unnecessarily, it isn't like it couldn't wait, but she's restless now and not sure how they move from words into actions.

When she hears the scrape of his chair, she feels her heart start to pound harder, louder, and she has to force herself to swallow past the sudden dryness of her throat. She knows this is a line they've been teetering on for a long time, she knows too that once they cross it there's no going back, and in her mind she replays his words from last night; 'you're never going to want anyone else to kiss you again...for the rest of your life.' His arm brushes hers as he slides his plate onto the counter beside her and she feels her skin prickle in anticipation. He's close enough that she can smell him, the gentle hint of the shower gel that she knows is hers but that somehow smells different on his skin, and her brain wrestles with her body as her fingers itch to touch him.

"Harry…" His voice is soft but she still startles, kicking herself for getting so lost in her thoughts of last night, and torn between wanting him to kiss her and not knowing what it means for them if he does. "You know, this isn't a limited time offer. It's not like a coupon that expires if it's not used by a certain date, I don't want you to feel like-"

"Come on, Dempsey, you know me. I never do anything if I don't want to." She cuts his sentence short and turns to face him, needing to make clear that it's what she wants too, and determined not to overthink the details to the point where she talks herself out of the one thing she's absolutely certain of.

"Yeah…I do know that." He grins at her and his hand moves to her arm, his fingers gently tickling her skin, her hairs jumping right to attention in response. "So why does it feel like two minutes ago you said you wanted to kiss me but now I can almost hear you backpedalling like a confused hamster in one of those little wheels?"

"Well, you're wrong about that. I absolutely meant what I said, so I don't quite understand why you think I'm backpedalling. Perhaps you're the one having second thoughts?" She smirks at him because she knows that's not it, and she feels like this is so typical of them that had this gone smoothly she would have been more surprised. "Only last night you were promising me a kiss so good that I would never want to be kissed by anyone else again, and now we're standing here while you accuse me of not wanting that at all when, frankly, nobody in their right mind wouldn't want that. I mean, I-"

And that's it, the straw that apparently breaks the camel's back, because before she can say another word, or even think another thought, his lips are on hers and she finds herself pressed back against the counter. He's gentle but determined, tender but passionate, the touch of his lips is soft, sweet, yet somehow filled with an urgent hunger. She feels herself swaying slightly, her body willingly falling into his, her hands on his back, grabbing desperate handfuls of his t-shirt to drag him closer.

It's not even ten o'clock on a Saturday morning, she's wearing the leggings and t-shirt she slept in, and his fingers are vaguely sticky with the faintest traces of jam as his hands cup her face. As the kiss deepens and his tongue slides softly, slowly against hers she knows without question that he's right, damn him, she can't imagine ever being kissed by anyone else again.